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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704954">Today Until Forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam'>incorrectbatfam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Parents, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Not Canon Compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:22:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the struggles and triumphs of raising three meta-kids.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bart Allen &amp; Derek James, Bart Allen &amp; Mas y Menos, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes, Jaime Reyes &amp; Derek James, Jaime Reyes &amp; Mas y Menos, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Today Until Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223924">Sometimes Tragedy Leads you Home</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShaddowedSnow/pseuds/TheShaddowedSnow">TheShaddowedSnow</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title comes from the song “I’ll Stay” by Isabela Merced, and the piece was in part inspired by the movie Instant Family, as well as the fic above.</p><p>Más and Menos aren’t given names in canon yet, so I filled in for the sake of the story. They are both around 8 and Derek is 16 in this. Bart and Jaime are in their thirties. Más and Menos also only speak Spanish in canon, but I’m having them use English here because it makes sense with the logic of the story and is easier to understand.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was downright impossible for Jaime Reyes to get a peaceful bathroom break in his own home. </p><p>He stopped locking the door eons ago because his boyfriend would just phase through and ask if there was any milk left or what pizza toppings he wanted (because that was what normal people did). </p><p>The last time he got the bathroom to himself was in university, the evening before Bart moved in. By the end of the first month, Jaime learned to expect his visitor. Bart was the pebble in Jaime’s shoe, refusing to leave since the last time he visited a playground, burying itself in the gap between his toes at the most inconvenient times. It aggravated Jaime to no end. </p><p>So he put a ring on it, as one does, thus guaranteeing he will never have the bathroom to himself ever again for the rest of his life—and that’s exactly what he’s been getting for the past six years.</p><p><em> Zwoop</em>.</p><p>Speak of the devil.</p><p>“Tim called, he needs two people to fill in on the Kahndaq mission.”</p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “I thought he had everyone he needed?”</p><p>“Brion and Tara were called to Markovia last minute, so they’re down a couple members.”</p><p>“M’kay, gimme five.”</p><p>Bart zipped out and Jaime turned the faucet to the coldest setting, splashing water on his face. In his honest opinion, the Justice League should legally be barred from giving out missions before nine o’clock. At least he had coffee beforehand—that made Thursdays marginally more tolerable. That and the world’s crashest husband.</p><p>Jaime stepped out the door. The scarab chirped.</p><p>
  <b>[Prepare for incoming attack.]</b>
</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>
  <em> Bonk. </em>
</p><p>Jaime put his hands on his hips.</p><p>“I thought you were getting ready for the mission.”</p><p>Bart, holding a Nerf gun, giggled, the corner of his tongue poking out.</p><p>A devious grin broke out on Jaime’s face as the scarab formed a cannon around his wrist. Blue foam darts shot in a sequence, and Bart could only phase through the first wave before running from the second.</p><p>Socked feet slid across the wooden hallway, all the way to the master bedroom at the end. Bart phased through the closed door, but in doing so, cornered himself.</p><p>Jaime tackled Bart onto the bed. “Gotcha!”</p><p>Bart howled as Jaime’s fingers found their way to the squishy part of his stomach.</p><p>“<em>Stooop</em>, I’m ticklish!”</p><p>“Don’t you think I know that?” Jaime wrapped his arms around Bart’s waist pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come on, we should suit up.”</p><p>“Can I wear the bucket hat?”</p><p>He groaned. The bucket hat—a gag gift from Wally—was a secondhand denim monstrosity covered in old Girl Scout patches, with the West-Allen family name written in glow-in-the-dark fabric paint and reeked of the Mississippi River. Jaime <em>loathed </em>it.</p><p>“Please don’t wear the bucket hat.”</p><p>Bart playfully shoved Jaime off the bed, pouting. “You know, when we have kids, I bet they’ll love it.”</p><p>“Our kids will have taste,” Jaime said. “I’m gonna make sure of it.”</p><p>Bart paused, turning over to meet Jaime’s eyes. “I wish the process wasn’t so long. I hate waiting.”</p><p>Jaime grimaced. The road to adoption was long and winding—and that wasn’t excluding the fact that they were one, gay, and two, they were active-duty superheroes. He couldn’t blame the agencies for the second one. One look at Batman and anyone with common sense would know to keep civilian children <em>far </em>away from that life.</p><p>“Can I wear the bucket hat on family picnics?”</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes playfully. “Sure, you can wear it on family picnics.”</p><p>“Crash! Watch me be the cool parent who lets them do anything they want.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, <em> cariño</em>.” </p><p>A flash of lightning later, they were ready for another routine mission. Jaime smiled softly as he helped Bart tuck the flyaway ginger strands under the scarlet cowl with a black hairpin.</p><p>“Alright, <em>now </em>we’re ready,” Bart said. He planted a kiss on Jaime’s cheek. “Race you to Kahndaq!”</p><p>Laughing, Jaime extended his wings and followed his husband.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bart hated how after all these years metahuman trafficking was still a problem. </p><p>Maybe he was impatient, wishing the rings could be brought down overnight. Didn’t the Light get the message by now that they would not get away with their schemes?</p><p>And don’t even get him <em>started </em>on stakeouts. They were bad at home, but infinitely worse in the desert. The cold night air seeped through his skin. Goosebumps trailed his arms and legs, and no amount of vibrating seemed to keep him warm. His suit was giving him a wedgie and sand was getting in places sand shouldn’t be, plus he could practically taste the diesel fumes from the warehouse cutting through the thick, dusty air. </p><p>Nestled against Jaime’s side, Bart asked, “How much longer?”</p><p>Jaime shrugged, not looking away from his binoculars. “However long it takes for the vans to arrive.”</p><p>Bart groaned. “But we’ve been here for a week.”</p><p>“It’s been forty minutes.”</p><p>“Same difference.”</p><p>The comms crackled to life and Tim said, “Red Robin to Alpha Squad: status update.”</p><p>“We’ve spotted four unregistered vehicles en route, transporting approximately thirty Light henchman,” Milagro said.</p><p>“Should we move in?” Bart asked.</p><p>“Negative. We don’t know what we’re up against. We must observe first.”</p><p>A second female voice cut in. “Stakeouts suck. Can’t we just, like, plant cameras and wait ‘til they pick something up?”</p><p>“Agreed, Irey,” Bart said.</p><p>“No real names on the field,” Tim said. </p><p>“I still don’t get the whole secret ID thing,” Bart said.</p><p>“Exactly. It’s so retro,” said Irey.</p><p>Both Reyes siblings groaned. </p><p>“Can we focus?” Tim asked. “Green Lantern, Impulse, what else have you got?”</p><p>The comms went silent for a second, presumably as Milagro pulled up one of those fancy three-dimensional maps with her ring. “There are two levels of the warehouse. The main level is a front—a textile factory belonging to a Light subsidiary. Below that is a lab where, according to my scans, show evidence of previous metahuman experimentation.”</p><p>Irey chimed in. “No human guards are present, which means they’re either not expecting us or they have some top-notch security. I’m gonna get a closer—”</p><p>They heard the <em>hrk </em>of Irey being pulled back by the collar, followed by Milagro saying, “Nice try, <em> cariña</em>. You have to suffer like the rest of us.”</p><p>Bart shifted, smiling as he pressed his cheek against Jaime’s scarab, soaking up the armor’s warmth. He wrapped his arms around Jaime’s waist and yawned. “Wake me up when something happens.”</p><p>A few hours—or was it a few minutes?—later, the scarab gently poked Bart’s side.</p><p>“Tim disabled the security. He wants us on the East wing. Mil and Irey will meet us from the West.”</p><p>Bart stretched his arms out. “Carry me?”</p><p>“<em>Ese</em>, you’re faster than me.”</p><p>“Hm… you’re right.”</p><p>Before Jaime could protest, Bart slung him over his shoulder like a firefighter and zipped to the side entrance.</p><p>“Now <em> that’s </em> efficient.”</p><p>“Please put me down.”</p><p>They ducked behind a row of oil drums. Less than a hundred feet away, kevlar-clad henchman milled about. The first three vans parked by the garage door, and out jumped even more people. Most were minions, but Bart curled his lip at the one that caught his eye: Black Adam, Kahndaq’s malevolent dictator—or as Bart liked to call him: Supreme Ruler of Bad Hairlines. </p><p>“What’s he doing here?” Bart whispered.</p><p>“It’s Black Adam; I think we both know. Just wait for the signal—”</p><p>A bolt of lightning plowed through the henchman like a bowling ball.</p><p>“Looks like a signal to me,” Bart said. He leaped into the fray. “Hey, King Baldy, you’re not the only one who can play with lightning!”</p><p>Tim’s voice rang through the comms. “Impulse, Flash, what the heck?!?”</p><p>Meanwhile, Jaime and Milagro said, “<em> Díos mio. </em>”</p><p>“<em>Fools! </em> You think your puny mortal powers can compare to the gods?”</p><p>Bart phased through a bullet. “Yeah, kinda. Fastest Man Alive—you know the gist.”</p><p>Adam opened his mouth, exposing his teeth to a giant green fist. A bo staff struck his ankles. He aimed a lightning bolt at Milagro, but a beetle blade deflected it. The bolt diverted toward the lights. Amber sparks rained onto the field, followed by the plunge into pitch darkness.</p><p>Bart heard Tim’s night vision goggles snap over his eyes. Milagro constructed a shield to protect herself and Irey. The green glow was enough for Bart to work with. </p><p>He clocked a henchman’s jaw and struck him with an uppercut to the ribs before sweeping under his feet, knocking the man to the ground. </p><p>Another henchman stumbled over the first. Bart grabbed the guy by the vest and slammed him into a third one. The fourth and fifth were too easy—Bart hit them with twin electricity bolts to the gut.</p><p>“Guys!” Irey said. “I think I saw inhibitor collars. They’ve got captive metahumans, and they’re taking them down to the lab.”</p><p>Bart twisted a henchman’s shoulder and kicked them away. “Copy. Blue and I are on it.”</p><p>“Crash. Also, you might wanna cover your ears.”</p><p>He pressed his palm over his ears. </p><p>A sonic boom echoed through the cavernous warehouse. Villains collapsed onto their knees, crying out as blood leaked from their ears.</p><p>“Door’s unlocked,” Tim said. “We’ll take care of Adam.”</p><p>From the top of the stairs, Bart could pick apart several voices—soldiers, scientists, victims—among beeping computers and whirring tools.</p><p>“On three?” Jaime asked.</p><p>A child began sobbing. </p><p>A slap silenced them. </p><p>Lightning ran hot in Bart’s veins. </p><p>He clenched his fist. “Forget that.”</p><p>The banister squealed as Bart slid down, heel grinding against the iron rust, teeth grinding against each other.</p><p>At the bottom, with five different machine guns met him from five different directions. He kneed the first guy in the groin and snatched the weapon.</p><p>Bart cocked the gun and pointed it at the rest. “Who wants to try next?”</p><p>He didn’t need to wait for an answer. Jaime swooped in with a string of staples, pinning the soldiers to the wall.</p><p>A metal cart stood in the middle, littered with strange tools, all stained reddish-brown. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air, stinging Bart’s eyes and nostrils and throat. A line of handcuffed and collared metahumans—all teenagers or younger—had their backs pressed against a hole-ridden wall. Each person—at least ten of them—was paired with a pistol-wielding lab technician assigned to keep them still. The teens didn’t stare at the lab techs, however. They directed their eyes to the center of the room. </p><p>Strapped to an operating table with an inhibitor collar on, a redheaded boy no older than the single digits fought the restraints, screaming and crying in Spanish. A river of tears cut through the cracked dirt on his face. A handprint-sized bruise had already formed on his cheek. Through torn jeans, his knee was swollen and twisted at a grotesque angle. A trio of scientists surrounded him, scalpels at the ready.</p><p>Bart swung the gun. The butt collided with the base of one scientist’s skull. The man instantly crumpled to the ground with a grunt. Bart whirled around and did the same with the second one, striking her between the shoulder blades, before turning to the third.</p><p>The last man, short and stout and balding with thick-framed spectacles, put his latex-gloved hands up. “Hey, hey, hey! You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would you?”</p><p>Bart snatched the glasses off the man’s face and whacked him over the head. He tossed the shattered lenses aside. With a kick to the chest, he sent the scientist flying into a linens rack. </p><p>As Jaime handled the others, Bart turned to the child on the table.</p><p>“<em>Shh</em>, it’s okay.” He swiped a tear from the boy’s face. “You’re safe now.”</p><p>Bart grabbed a knife from the tray and with a clean slice, freed the boy from the binds. </p><p>“I need you to hold still for me,” he said.</p><p>With his hairpin, he picked the lock on the inhibitor collar. It beeped thrice before falling into his hands. He tossed it aside and picked the boy up. The child buried his face in Bart’s shoulder. </p><p>“<em>Hermano! Hermano!</em>” </p><p>Bart turned to find a nearly identical child—except this one didn’t have a gap between his two front teeth. An older, less similar-looking boy with tousled brown hair took the younger boy. Bart unlocked their inhibitor collars, fingers practically vibrating. </p><p>“Don’t look. This’ll be over soon.”</p><p>While Jaime blasted through the soldiers and scientists, Bart zipped back and forth with the pin, unlocking the other kids’ inhibitor collars. Some metahumans radiated power—fire, ice, light. One transformed her body into stone and socked her captor in the eye. Others slumped against their friends in exhaustion.</p><p>“I think that’s all of them,” Bart said.</p><p>“Good.” Jaime put a finger to his comm. “This is Blue Beetle. Prepare for evacuation.”</p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p>Bart’s head whipped toward the sound. </p><p>A technician pointed her gun at the three boys. “If we can’t you, nobody can.”</p><p>In response, the oldest picked a bent screwdriver off the ground and stepped in front of the other two. “If you want them, you’re gonna have to go through me!”</p><p>The woman smiled wickedly. “Gladly.”</p><p>Time slowed. </p><p>The bullet left the barrel.</p><p>Bart launched himself at rocket speed.</p><p>The bullet was halfway.</p><p>
  <em> Almost. There. </em>
</p><p>“Gotcha!”</p><p>He skidded to a stop in front of the boys. His hand wrapped around the bullet as though it was a tennis ball. Without hesitating, Bart aimed his gun at her knee and pulled the trigger. The woman fell to the ground.</p><p>Jaime gaped. “Flash!”</p><p>“What? I’ve been kneecapped. It’s not that bad.” Bart looked around. “Is that everyone?”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “Now to get these kids back to their families.”</p><p>Thirty minutes later, they found themselves at the airport in the capital city of Shiruta. While Kon and Cassie—Superman and Wonder Woman—apprehended Black Adam, Bart, Jaime, and the rest were told to look over as private jets flew in (Wayne Enterprises was generous enough to fly family members in so they could identify and reunite with their kids). One by one, children ran into their parents’ arms with tearful <em> I love you’s</em>. </p><p>A platinum-haired woman in a crimson pantsuit approached Bart. “Excuse me, I’m looking for…” She checked her clipboard. “Manuel, Miguel, and Derek.”</p><p>Bart shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know any of their names.”</p><p>Her eyes lit up when she looked over his shoulder. “There they are!”</p><p>Sitting on a bench, the two younger boys leaned against either side of the older one, fast asleep. The older boy had a faraway look in his eyes. Forlorn. Lost.</p><p>Bart scratched his head. “You’re their mother?”</p><p>Jaime elbowed Bart in the ribs. “Dude!”</p><p>“Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that—”</p><p>“Stop talking already,” Jaime said.</p><p>“I should probably do that.”</p><p>The woman shook her head. “My name is Debra Kane. I’m their social worker and… never mind. It’s complicated and confidential. I’m just glad they’re safe.”</p><p>As she attended to the boys, Bart turned to Jaime. “Babe. They have a social worker.”</p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “And?”</p><p>Bart watched as talked to the eldest child in hushed tones.</p><p>“That means they don’t have a family,” he said. “Or at least not a good family situation.”</p><p>Jaime’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re serious.”</p><p>“Please?” Bart asked. “Look at them! They’re so cute and all alone.”</p><p>Jaime spared a glance at the kids. “Alright, I admit, they’re cute. But we can’t simply pull a Batman and take them with us. There are processes for these things.”</p><p>“We’ll go through them, no problem.” Bart took Jaime’s hand. “Think about it. How long have we been talking about starting a family? This is our chance.”</p><p>Squeezing Bart’s hand, Jaime smiled. “Let’s see what we can do.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jaime rubbed his palms in anticipation. “Ready, <em> cariño</em>?”</p><p>Bart gazed blankly out the lobby’s bay window. To an outsider, he probably looked calm and collected compared to others in the room. One man shed tears of anxiety and joy as his wife tried to calm him. Meanwhile, an eager lesbian couple talked about all the family activities they planned to do with their new children. </p><p>Jaime saw through his husband’s cool facade, noting the subtle tremor in his hand.</p><p>“Hey.” He placed his hand on top of Bart’s. “<em>No te preocupes</em>.”</p><p>“Sorry, babe, I can’t help it,” Bart said. “What if they don’t like us?”</p><p>Jaime pursed his lips. “You know what they told us during the session. This isn’t about us. Our job is to care for these kids regardless of how they feel about us.”</p><p>Bart tapped his foot. “I know. Ideally, we’d be adopting them right away and we wouldn’t have to worry as much about logistics, but…” He chuckled. “One step at a time. Who knows how this’ll end up.”</p><p>Jaime pressed a kiss to Bart’s cheek. “Here’s to the best.”</p><p>From the back, Debra Kane emerged, tapping her pen against her clipboard. “Bart Allen and Jaime Reyes?”</p><p>Jaime’s heart sped up. </p><p>This was it. All those weeks of training, all those home inspections led to this.</p><p>“Come with me,” she said. “My associate is bringing the kids from the previous home—they’re running behind. Traffic and all. If you’ll please step into my office, we’ll get you all set to go. Mr. Drake has said a lot of good things about you.”</p><p>Jaime almost forgot that they had Tim expedite the process. He made a mental note to send a thank you basket full of Mama Reyes’s famous tamales. </p><p>They sat down. Debra’s fingers walked over the files in the cabinet. She stopped once and pulled out a manila folder, before rifling through and pulling out two more.</p><p>“This,” she said, “is everything you need to know about them.”</p><p>Three identical files stared up at them. They each reached for one. As they scanned through, Debra began explaining.</p><p>“Manuel and Miguel Ramos. Eight years old. Twins; Manuel is older by four minutes. They were born to their mother, Rocio Ramos, and an unknown Guatemalan man. They tested positive for the meta-gene one month before the Light kidnapped them.”</p><p>“What are their powers?” Bart asked.</p><p>“Super speed,” she said, “but they can only harness it when they’re physically connected. They nicknamed themselves Más and Menos, but they’re too young to be recognized or affiliated with any organization.”</p><p>Bart nudged Jaime. “Did you hear that? Spanish-speaking speedsters!”</p><p>Jaime nodded, not taking his eyes off the photo in front of him—the gap-toothed one, Miguel. He traded with Bart, getting a better look at the other twin.</p><p>“They’re both fairly easygoing,” Debra said. “They love being around people, enjoy team sports, and ask lots of questions. These two tend to get along with new families.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. They closed their files and reached for the third one.</p><p>“Derek James. Sixteen years old. He’s Manuel and Miguel’s half-brother—they share the same mother. He tested positive for the meta-gene at the same time as his siblings, but rather than super speed, he has the power to create interdimensional rifts.” Debra sighed, clicking her pen. “Let’s just say he doesn’t adjust as easily.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Jaime said. “I’m sure we can get through to him.”</p><p>She smiled. “That’s good to hear.”</p><p>Someone knocked on the door. A mousy-haired man with a mustache and beige suit poked his head through. “Ms. Kane, the children are waiting.” He turned to Bart and Jaime. “You must be the Allen-Reyes family. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Felix Desidero and I am their caseworker.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Jaime and that’s my husband, Bart.” Jaime offered a handshake.</p><p>Felix shook Jaime’s hand gingerly before whipping a hand sanitizer bottle out of his pocket and pouring a puddle into his palm. “Follow me.”</p><p>Debra motioned for Bart and Jaime to follow. “I can hang on to the files for you as future reference.”</p><p>Felix led them to the end of the hall. Tucked at the end was an alcove with vending machines and a kitchen sink. The oldest boy—Derek—slumped in a chair, phone in hand, headphones around his neck. The gap-toothed twin, Miguel, had his arm reaching up a vending machine while Manuel pressed random buttons. Three white garbage bags, stretched to the maximum, rested under the table.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Felix said, “Manuel, Miguel, and Derek: meet your new foster parents.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The car ride back to the house was the loudest and tensest Bart had ever endured.</p><p>While Jaime drove, Manuel and Miguel bounced in their seats. They pointed at a deer on the side of the road, tried to reach forward to change the radio station every other song, and asked Bart and Jaime a barrage of question—favorite baseball team, best taco filling, whether they wet their toothbrushes before or after putting on the toothpaste, why shoes aren’t made with individual toe slots.</p><p>Bart answered, “Central City Diamonds, chipotle chicken, <em> obviously </em> after, and because they’re hard to manufacture.”</p><p>Jaime responded, “The exact opposite of everything he said. Except the shoe thing—he's right about that."</p><p>Bart looked in the rearview mirror. “What about you, Derek?”</p><p>Derek gazed out the window, replying only with an apathetic grunt.</p><p>Before Bart could overthink it, Manuel asked, “What should we call you?”</p><p>Jaime shrugged. “Anything you want.”</p><p>“Can we call you Dad?” Miguel asked.</p><p>“No, no,” Manuel said. “He’s Papá. Look, he’s even got a jar of <em>chiles de árbol </em>up front. That’s, like, every Latino father ever.”</p><p>“They add flavor!”</p><p>Manuel pointed to Bart. “That one’s Dad. He’s wearing socks with sandals and hasn’t stopped telling bad jokes the entire ride.”</p><p>“Did you hear about the two guys who stole a calendar? They each got six months!”</p><p>“I see what you mean,” said Miguel.</p><p>Derek’s head snapped toward the twins. “Stop it. They’re not our parents.”</p><p>Bart wasn’t sure if five seconds or five minutes had passed. The silence was a like whenever he broke the sound barrier—muffled nothingness; the world slowing as he tried to determine his next move. Luckily, Derek couldn’t see Bart’s finger twitch, twirled around the loose thread on the hem of his shirt. At the edge of his vision, he watched for Jaime’s reaction. How the heck were they supposed to respond to that.</p><p>“Like I said, call us whatever’s comfortable for you.” Jaime glanced at the kids, then back at the road. “We’re not gonna force ourselves into the parental title if that’s not what you want.”</p><p>Bart swallowed. “Yeah.”</p><p>They pulled into the driveway. While Jaime unloaded the trunk, Bart unlocked the door. The twins eagerly dashed in, taking in the room around them as though they’ve never been inside a house. Derek shuffled behind, eyes glued to his phone.</p><p>“Welcome to our home,” Bart said. “Your rooms are upstairs and don’t worry about unpacking—Jaime and I can take care of that. Over here’s the living room, and after that’s the kitchen.”</p><p>“This place is awesome!” Manuel said.</p><p>Miguel tugged Derek’s sleeve. “Look, they have an Xbox!”</p><p>Derek grunted.</p><p>Bart thought for a second. “You guys hungry?”</p><p>The twins nodded so fast their heads blurred. </p><p>He laughed. “I’ll whip us something.”</p><p>Making the pizzas took less than five seconds, but it was a waiting game once they entered the oven. Bart slung the dishtowel over his shoulder and turned to the kids. </p><p>“Food should be done soon.”</p><p>The twins had made themselves at home with a board game on the kitchen table. While they called coordinates and sunk each other’s boats, Derek tapped away at the phone. </p><p>Bart grabbed the seat closer to him. “So, Derek, what are you into?”</p><p>Derek rolled his eyes. “Anything besides this conversation.”</p><p>Resisting the urge to peek over, Bart asked, “What’cha doing on that phone?”</p><p>“None of your business,” said Derek.</p><p>“Okay…” Bart pointed to Derek’s beanie. “I like your hat.”</p><p>“I don’t care what you think.”</p><p>Bart tapped his finger on the edge of the table. The social workers were right: Derek was a steel wall. But surely Bart could phase through.</p><p>“How about a game?” Bart asked. “We can join your brothers.”</p><p>Derek sneered. “Battleship is a two-player game, <em> idiot </em>.”</p><p>It took everything in Bart not to scoff. Who does this kid think he is? </p><p>“Listen, I know you don’t enjoy moving again, but here is where you’ll be staying as far as I can see. This whole thing is a two-way street, you see. I respect you. I respect everything you’ve been through. All I ask in return is—”</p><p>Derek put his headphones on. He turned up the volume until it did not differ from using a speaker. Bart bit back the urge to throw his hands up. He checked on the pizzas.</p><p>Jaime wrapped an arm around Bart’s shoulder. “Smells amazing. Not as good as my tamales, but still.”</p><p>Bart playfully rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, they’d be done faster if we fixed the oven. Plus, the edges won’t be so dry. Just let me call the repairman.”</p><p>“No need. I can fix it.”</p><p>“You’ve been saying that since April.” Bart tossed the oven mitts aside and placed a hand on Jaime’s waist. “How’s unpacking going?”</p><p>“Khaji took over and finished it. He thought I was too inefficient.”</p><p>Bart pouted. “I wanted to help. Y’know, I haven’t seen the rooms since we painted them.”</p><p>“You’ll have plenty of time later.” Jaime placed a peck on Bart’s lips. “How are the kids doing?”</p><p>Bart’s eyes flicked toward Derek. “I dunno. You think you’ll have any luck with that one?”</p><p>Jaime placed a hand on top of Bart’s. “I doubt I’ll be able to right away. We’ve known them for, what, an hour?”</p><p>“Two hours if you count Kahndaq.”</p><p>“My point is,” said Jaime, “these things take time.”</p><p>“But I hate waiting.”</p><p>“I know, <em> cariño</em>. I know.”</p><p>As the scarab’s tendrils removed the pizzas from the oven, Jaime asked, “How many did you make?”</p><p>“Hey, we have three growing metahumans—two of whom are speedsters. Plus yours truly.” Bart turned to the kids. “Manuel, Miguel, can you put the game away and help set up the table?”</p><p>Miguel thrust the loose pieces into Manuel’s hands. “You do that. I’ll set the dishes. You’re too careless.”</p><p>“Derek, please put your phone away,” Jaime said.</p><p>Derek rolled his eyes but complied. </p><p>How did Jaime do that? Bart needed to learn his secrets.</p><p>While Manuel and Miguel scarfed down slice after slice, Derek hardly made a dent in his first one. Between plates and talking points—none of which Derek contributed to—Bart looked at Jaime, as though he could extract from Jaime’s brain whatever made Derek put the phone away. It was hard to pick out, what will Bart intermittently stopping to chime into the conversation.</p><p>Derek only piped up to ask, “Where’s my room?”</p><p>“Upstairs, second door on the right,” Jaime said.</p><p>Derek rinsed his plate, placed it in the dishwasher, and half-shuffled, half-stomped upstairs.</p><p>Bart coughed. “I’ll, um, check on him.”</p><p>Jaime nodded.</p><p>Bart rapped his knuckle against the door. “Can I come in?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Can you at least open the door, please?”</p><p>The music paused, and the mattress shifted. The door swung open.</p><p>Bart peeked inside. “I see you’re enjoying the stereo setup.”</p><p>Derek rolled his eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. I know this is another run-of-the-mill home—I’ve been to four at this point—and they’re all the same. You get paid to babysit while child services figure out the other crap, and just ‘cause it’s called a ‘foster family’ does <em>not </em>mean we’re an actual family. You’re not my parent and therefore can’t tell me what to do. We’ll probably end up moving in a few months anyway, so don’t even bother with the act.” He scanned Bart one more time. “And cut your hair. You look like a girl.”</p><p>“Now, now, no need for the gendered—”</p><p><em> SLAM</em>.</p><p>Something zoomed by the corner of Bart’s eye. At first, he thought it was a really fast bug, but then the other bedroom door closed, and Miguel—or was it Manuel?—called the top bunk. </p><p>Sliding down the banister, Bart made his way to the kitchen where Jaime was scrubbing the plates.</p><p>“Any luck?” Jaime asked.</p><p>Bart shook his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”</p><p>Jaime pointed to a stack of wet dishes. “You can start by drying those.”</p><p>“Ha ha.”</p><p>“I’m serious, Jaime. He won’t even have a conversation with us.”</p><p>“<em>Cariño</em>, give him time. This is a lot harder on him than it is on us.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Bart said. “About the kid, not the dishes. You’re on your own for that one.”</p><p>Jaime whacked him with a towel.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ring ring. </em>
</p><p>Jaime picked up the phone. “Hello?”</p><p>“Hello,” a woman said. “Is this the Allen-Reyes residence?”</p><p>“Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?” Jaime motioned for Bart to lower the TV volume.</p><p>“This is Principal Sanchez. I have a Manuel and Miguel Ramos here who need to be picked up.”</p><p>“Please don’t tell me they’re in trouble.”</p><p>The principal laughed. “No, they’re not. They just missed the bus and need a ride home. They refuse to leave the school without a trusted adult.”</p><p>“Got it. I’ll be there in five.” He hung up. “Who’s gonna pick up the twins?”</p><p>They flipped a coin.</p><p>Jaime squeezed into the parking space and switched the radio to a kid-friendly station.</p><p>A woman in a suit waited at the front door of the stout brick building. On either side of her, Manuel and Miguel clung close, as though hiding from something. She said something, and the boys relaxed.</p><p>Jaime twirled his keys on his fingers, brows furrowing. “Is something wrong? How come you missed the bus?”</p><p>She smiled. “On the contrary. They missed the bus because they were helping their teacher clean the classroom. They came to me because they didn’t want to walk home alone.”</p><p>Puzzled, Jaime said, “Thanks.”</p><p>As they tossed their backpacks in the trunk, Jaime said, “You know our house is less than ten minutes’ walk, right?”</p><p>Miguel nodded. “We know—”</p><p>“—but we don’t want to walk,” Manuel finished. </p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”</p><p>Miguel traced his toe along the cracks in the parking lot. They exchanged looks, as though they had a telepathic link.</p><p>Manuel bit his lip, looking down. A drop hit the pavement. “The last time we walked home alone, the bad guys took us.”</p><p>Miguel nodded, big brown eyes shining. “Us and Derek. They put us on a missing children’s list and we never saw our other foster home again.”</p><p>Jaime's heart clenched. “Oh, <em> chiquitos… </em>” </p><p>They hurled themselves into Jaime’s arms. Hugging them close, he blinked away the mist in his eyes. Part of him wanted to fly off and hunt down the kidnappers. But his kids needed him more.</p><p>Miguel sniffled. “You won’t let them take us again, will you?”</p><p>“Of course not.” Jaime swiped the tears off the boy’s cheeks. “You’re safe with me.” He planted a kiss on each of their heads. “Come, we should be just in time to pick up your brother.”</p><p>Halfway to the high school, Manuel stuck his arm out the open window, pointing and asking, “Can we get Dairy Queen?”</p><p>Jaime checked the clock. “I dunno. It’s pretty close to dinner. And hands inside; there are too many careless drivers out there.”</p><p>“<em>Pleeeease?</em>”</p><p>They leaned forward, stuck out their bottom lips, and batted their long eyelashes.</p><p>
  <b>[Scans show the offspring may benefit from light nourishment.]</b>
</p><p>Jaime sighed. “Fine. One small cone each, and don’t tell Bart.”</p><p>“Yaaay!”</p><p>He shook his head, chuckling. The things he’d do to see them smile.</p><p>After the drive-thru pit stop, they pulled up to the high school right when the bell rang. Teenagers flooded the parking lot. Some got into their parents’ cars; the older ones hopped into their own. Jaime rolled the window down as soon as he spotted Derek, leaning against the sand-colored marker-graffitied wall, trying to smooth-talk a girl in Spanish. </p><p>“Derek!” Jaime called. “Hurry, <em> mijo</em>. Dinner’s almost ready.”</p><p>Derek looked <em>mortified</em>. </p><p>The girl snickered. “I thought the other one was your dad.”</p><p>“No, he’s not. They’re not. They’re, um, family friends,” Derek said. “I’ll see you around.”</p><p>He made a “call me” motion as he slid down the banister and hopped into the passenger’s seat. His previously tilted smile morphed into a scowl and he crossed his arms.</p><p>“Dude, what was that for?” Derek asked.</p><p>“Good afternoon to you too,” Jaime said. “I was picking you up. You know, like parents do.”</p><p>“Did you have to call me <em>‘mijo’</em>? I’m not your son. Plus, you did it in front of, like, the entire school!”</p><p>“Alright, I won’t call you that,” said Jaime.</p><p>Derek continued. “Also, if I have to be picked up, can’t it just be one of you each time? I don’t want them to think I have…”</p><p>Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Have what?”</p><p>“You know.”</p><p>The next few seconds were silent, save for the ice cream slurping and KidzBop radio. When they stopped at a red light, Jaime turned to Derek.</p><p>“You don’t want people to think you have two dads.”</p><p>Derek shifted. “Well, when you put it like that…”</p><p>“What’s wrong with having two dads?” Miguel asked.</p><p>“Our baseball coach has two dads,” Manuel said.</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with having two dads,” Jaime said, “despite <em> some </em> people’s worldviews.”</p><p>“It’s weird!” Derek exclaimed.</p><p>“So are toe socks, yet those are still a thing.” Jaime inhaled. “Just… try to keep an open mind.”</p><p>Derek slumped back, grumbling.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“<em>Strrrrike three, you’re out!</em>”</p><p>As the previous hitter stepped off the plate, Manuel rolled the metal bat in his palms. Across the diamond, Miguel planted one foot on second base while the other dug into the sand, anxiously waiting for the cue to take off and secure the final two points needed to beat the visiting team.</p><p>From the front row, Bart whooped at the top of his lungs. “You got this, kid!”</p><p>The coach gave Bart a look before turning back to his clipboard.</p><p>Derek paused his music and stood on his seat, balancing on his toes as he snapped photos of the sunlit field. </p><p>“Careful,” Bart said, taking a handful of popcorn from Jaime’s box.</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do.” </p><p>The second-grade pitcher spit to his side. He eyed Manuel with a slitted squint, his gray jersey a single cloud against the pristine sky. Manuel tapped the bat on the home plate. </p><p>“Batter up!”</p><p>“You can do it, kiddo! I believe in you!”</p><p>The coach shot Bart an exasperated glare but said nothing.</p><p>Pitch. </p><p>Swing. </p><p>“<em>Strike one!</em>”</p><p>“Seriously?!?” Bart shouted. “That’s rigged!”</p><p>“Relax, <em> cariño</em>,” said Jaime. “It’s just a game.”</p><p>Pitch. </p><p>Swing.</p><p>“<em>Strike two!</em>”</p><p>“I demand a re-throw!”</p><p>“<em>Díos mio</em>, Bart, sit down. You’re gonna get us kicked out again.”</p><p>Derek scooted away, pulling his hat down to cover his face. Another high schooler asked if he knew Bart. He shook his head.</p><p>The pitcher—the snot-nosed, foul-playing twerp that Bart was <em>certain </em>had a vendetta against his son—wound his arm in circles like a wind-up toy. </p><p>Pitch.</p><p>The ball hurled toward Manuel like a meteor.</p><p>He swung.</p><p>The ball and bat collided in a symphonious <em>clack</em>.</p><p>Manuel tossed the bat aside. The outfielders raced to chase the runaway moon; the crowd watched in awe. His foot hit first base. Miguel’s hit third. Bart chewed on his thumbnail.</p><p>The ball flew. The fielders chased. Manuel passed second base. Miguel sailed through home like a pro. With the teams tied, only seconds remained between a victory and an extra inning.</p><p>The ball touched the ground. Manuel touched third base.</p><p>“Come on…” Bart inched toward the edge of his seat, leg shaking until Jaime’s hand stopped him.</p><p>The fielder caught the ball and threw it to the pitcher. The pitcher lobbed it at Manuel. </p><p>With a ducking slide, he evaded the ball by mere inches. His knee rubbed against the coarse sand. He stretched his hand out. His fingertips met the plate as he slid to a stop.</p><p>The stands exploded. Nobody could hear the coach’s whistle over the deafening roar—someone even had an air horn.</p><p>Despite Jaime’s protests, Bart leaped over the fence, hitting the ground right as the twins ran into his arms.</p><p>“That was so crash!”</p><p>“First win of the season!” said Manuel.</p><p>Bart hoisted the boy onto his shoulders, and Miguel took it as a sign to zip around the stands and jump on Jaime’s back, catching him off-guard. The scarab extended two thin tendrils to keep the child balanced.</p><p>Jaime asked, “How should we celebrate?”</p><p>“Pancakes,” Manuel said as he messed with Bart’s hair.</p><p>Miguel nodded so fast his head blurred. “Pancakes!”</p><p>Bart looked at Derek. “You okay with pancakes, kiddo?”</p><p>Not looking up from his phone, Derek rolled his eyes. “Whatever. And don’t call me that.”</p><p>“Pancakes it is,” said Jaime. “I’d race you to the car, but—”</p><p>Bart zoomed off before Jaime finished the sentence.</p><p>Two hours, dozens of pancakes, and one disgruntled breakfast chef later, they were back home. The twins had demanded to be carried inside as the first hints of a sugar crash crept upon them. </p><p>As they put the twins down, Bart ruffled their hairs. “Go take a shower—you guys smell like sports.”</p><p>Manuel took one step before wincing. He tugged his pant leg up to reveal a skinned, bloodstained knee. Bart’s eyes widened.</p><p>“Why did you not tell us before?!” Bart asked.</p><p>“I’ll grab the bandages,” said Jaime.</p><p>Derek cut in. “No need. I got this.”</p><p>Bart watched as the teen whispered to his brother, unwrapping a miniature first-aid kid in his pocket and applying the antiseptic. He stopped only to shoot Bart a glare and a, <em> “What are you looking at?”</em>. Bart backed away.</p><p>Once that was done and they sent Manuel off to shower, Bart placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re a good brother.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I am.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I told you, that’s not enough salt.”</p><p>Bart dipped a spoon in the tomato sauce. “Tastes like enough.”</p><p>“Do we have to FaceTime Milagro again? I’m telling you, Bart, that’s not enough salt!”</p><p>
  <b>[You are incorrect, Jaime Reyes. The Bart Allen has added a sufficient amount of sodium chloride.]</b>
</p><p>Jaime whispered a <em> “cállate” </em> over his shoulder before turning back to Bart. “Taste it again. It’s not enough.”</p><p>Just then, Derek slid down the banister with an ice skating bag over his shoulder. “I’m going out. See ya.”</p><p>“Woah, woah, woah.” Jaime put the spatula down. “You never told us anything about going out.”</p><p>“I’m telling you right now,” Derek said. “I got a date.”</p><p>“That’s nice,” Jaime said, “but you should’ve given us a heads-up.”</p><p>“He’s right,” Bart said. “As your parents, it’s our responsibility to know where you are at all times and with whom.”</p><p>“I don’t have to tell <em>you</em>,” Derek said. “You’re not my parent. You’re just a glorified babysitter.”</p><p>Eyes narrowing, Bart said, “Like it or not, we <em>are </em>your parents for the time being. And that means we have the power to set some ground rules. That includes no going out without letting us know beforehand.” He pointed upstairs. “Starting <em> now </em>.”</p><p>Derek’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that!” He turned to Jaime. “Tell him he can’t do that!”</p><p>Shifting his weight between his feet, Jaime said, “Technically, he can. He is your father.”</p><p>“<em>He is not my father!</em>”</p><p>Jaime recoiled.</p><p>Bart crossed his arms. “You know, ever since you arrived, you’ve done nothing but give us this nasty attitude even though we are trying our best, and it’s starting to get under my skin. Frankly, I suggest you cut it out before there are consequences."</p><p>“And I suggest you take a long run off a short pier!” Derek flipped them a rude gesture. “I can do whatever the hell I want, Fake Dad, and you can’t stop me!”</p><p>As Derek stomped to the door, Bart said, “Young man, you get back here right now. You are prohibited from leaving this house tonight.”</p><p>“Go screw yourself!”</p><p>The door slammed. The picture frames rattled. Bart’s composure cracked, and Jaime was there, arms and comforting words at the ready. Between shaky breaths, Bart turned off the stove and buried his face in Jaime’s neck. He ran his fingers through silky auburn locks, heart squeezing when the first sob wracked Bart’s body. The only thing Jaime could offer was Spanish platitudes.</p><p>“I don’t get it,” Bart said. “It’s been, what, a month? And I still can’t get through to him. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?”</p><p>“Of course not, <em> mi amor</em>,” Jaime said. “You’re a good parent—better than any I know, but even the best isn’t a one size fits all.”</p><p>“It’s just… it <em>hurts</em>, Jaime. How can I make him see I care?”</p><p>Jaime led them to the couch. “That’s not something you can force him to see.”</p><p>Bart chuckled wetly. “I can’t tell which side you’re on.”</p><p>“<em>Cariño</em>.” He swiped a tear from Bart’s lashes and pressed their foreheads together. “We’re a family. There are no sides. I know things are far from ideal, but we’ll get to where we wanna be—that I know for sure.”</p><p>Bart sniffed and dried his eyes. “You’re right.”</p><p>Jaime placed a soft peck on Bart’s lips. “I’ll finish up dinner. Why don’t you wash up and get the twins?”</p><p>“M’kay,” Bart said. “And don’t add any more salt—the sauce has enough.”</p><p>“It does not!”</p><p>
  <b>[It does.]</b>
</p><p>After dinner and checking the kids’ homework, they laid on the couch, Bart’s head on Jaime’s chest, heartbeats in sync. Manuel and Miguel sat in front of the TV, bodies tilting with every turn as they tried to one-up each other in Mario Kart. As Miguel lobbed another blue shell, Jaime planted a kiss on Bart’s head.</p><p>“<em>Te amo.</em>”</p><p>Bart yawned and shifted, wrapping his arms around Jaime. “I love you too.”</p><p>From the other room, Jaime’s phone pinged. He untangled himself from Bart. “One sec.”</p><p>His brows furrowed when he saw Derek’s name on the screen. Instead of replying to the text which said, <em> “I need a ride” </em> with a map location, Jaime pressed call.</p><p>It rang once. </p><p>Twice.</p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p>“Hey,” Jaime said. He glanced at the living room, where the twins still played and Bart had fallen asleep. “What’s up?”</p><p>There was some background talking before Derek said, “My date’s car broke down and I need a ride back.”</p><p>Jaime grabbed his keys. “Where are you?”</p><p>He could practically hear Derek roll his eyes. “I sent you the location, didn’t I?”</p><p>“Alright, I’ll be there in ten.”</p><p>Jaime grabbed his jacket. Before leaving, he draped a throw blanket over Bart, motioned for the kids to turn the volume down, and placed a kiss on Bart’s temple with a quiet <em> “te amo mucho”</em>.</p><p>Jaime’s mind drifted as he made his way down the empty interstate. Adoption wasn’t on the table yet—he didn’t know why, but it’s what the social workers told him. His stomach sank knowing the social workers could take the kids anytime, moving them in an endless game of chess. <em> Díos mio</em>, Bart would be devastated. And Jaime couldn’t speak for Derek, but the twins… </p><p>
  <b>[Jaime Reyes, you are being unreasonable. There is no foreseeable reason for the offspring to leave your custody.]</b>
</p><p>Jaime sighed. “You’re right, Khaji. It’s just…” </p><p>
  <b>[You exhibit increased dopamine levels and greater activity in the hypothalamus when you are in proximity of the offspring.]</b>
</p><p>“<em>Exactamente</em>.”</p><p>He spotted a car on the side of the road—a Bumblebee-type sports car with the hood propped up, wisps of smoke curling from the engine. Two other vehicles—a tow truck and an unfamiliar car—were parked nearby. While a mechanic checked the car, a teenage girl was busy talking to a similar-looking middle-aged woman. Derek hung off to the side, like an athlete who never got called in to play. Jaime pulled over and flicked on the flasher.</p><p>Derek perked up. “Hey! I didn’t think you’d come.”</p><p>“Of course I would,” Jaime said. He put his hands on his hips. “So, what’s the situation?”</p><p>Derek scratched the back of his head. “I dunno. We were on our way to her place when the meters started acting funny and we smelled, like, gasoline or something.”</p><p>Jaime gestured to the older woman. “That her ride?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Alright,” Jaime said, “and you’re not hurt, are you?”</p><p>The boy shook his head.</p><p>“Good.” </p><p>Jaime gave a quick nod to Derek’s date and the girl’s guardian. As they pulled back onto the highway, Derek switched the radio to a hip-hop station and rested his chin on his arms on the open window. The wind ruffled the chocolate locks that his beanie didn’t cover. His lips were pulled in a tight, straight line. </p><p>“You look tense,” Jaime said. “Bad date?”</p><p>“Not one of my best,” Derek said. “It turned out to be a double-date with her friends, which she didn’t tell me, and I didn’t bring enough money, and… never mind, you don’t wanna hear it. It’s stupid.”</p><p>“No, no, I <em>want</em> to hear it.”</p><p>Derek debated for a second before continuing. “It was a crappy date. Her friends kept making fun of what I wore. She wouldn’t even hold my hand and was using her phone the entire time. It… I dunno.”</p><p>“Can I take a guess and say… it hurts?” Jaime asked.</p><p>Derek nodded, eyes shimmering in the side-view mirror.</p><p>“You wanna talk about it or forget about it?”</p><p>“Forget.”</p><p>Jaime smiled. “I think I have just the thing.”</p><p>The air lightened as they drove down the twilight street, the silhouettes of trees and the beasts lurking within naught but an inkling in the back of their minds as they laughed over late-night radio hosts and the story of how Jaime got away with pranking the entire Justice League. The minutes flew by like a flock of birds. At one point they rolled all the windows down, blasted the music at full volume, and sang off-tune at the top of their lungs, earning a glare from a suburban mom in a sedan and a thumbs-up from a guy on a motorcycle.</p><p>
  <b>[The Derek James is displaying slightly elevated serotonin levels.]</b>
</p><p>“Good,” Jaime said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>They passed the stone-carved neighborhood sign, continuing straight ahead.</p><p>“Uh, you missed the turn,” Derek said.</p><p>“I know,” Jaime said. “You’ll see in a minute.”</p><p>Two lefts and a right later, the main road disappeared. Yellow light glinted off chain links as they approached a booth with a lone employee, fast asleep with his feet on the counter. </p><p>Jaime knocked on the glass. “Aye, Luis!”</p><p>The man jolted awake, saying, “<em>¡No tomé las galletas!</em>”</p><p>“<em>Relájate, soy solo yo.</em>” Jaime said. “<em>Bueno, mi hijo y yo.</em>”</p><p>Luis snapped his fingers. “Alberto’s boy! It’s great to see you again. You know where to park. Just let me find my keys.”</p><p>Jaime parked the car by the fence, close to Luis’s booth.</p><p>Derek said, “If you murder me, I’m gonna report you.”</p><p>Jaime ruffled the teen’s hair. “You’re funny.”</p><p>Luis tossed them each a pair of safety goggles and rubber gloves. He pointed to a toolbox, telling them to take their pick. Jaime went for the tire iron, pulling the pieces apart to look like Nightwing’s escrima sticks. He scanned the rows upon rows of scrap cars—cars without tires, cars without doors, cars with nothing but the bottom frame intact.</p><p>Snapping on the goggles and gloves, he eyed the ugly gray van with “pervert”, “racist”, and “creep” spray-painted into the side. </p><p>“Don’t tell Bart.”</p><p>He swung.</p><p>The tire iron collided with the windshield.</p><p>A hailstorm of glass rained onto the seats.</p><p>Derek’s jaw dropped. </p><p>“That. Was. AWESOME! Can I try?”</p><p>“Of course, be my guest.”</p><p>Derek grabbed a crowbar and plowed through the passenger side window, laughing. And it hit Jaime just then: he had never seen Derek smile before tonight. Joy swelled like a balloon in his chest.</p><p>“My turn.”</p><p>Jaime threw one stick like a javelin. It sunk into the “i” in “racist”, digging a crater in the smooth metal.</p><p>Derek pried the cheap-looking door handle off. “Do you do this a lot?” </p><p>“On bad days.” Jaime shattered a mirror. “Bart’s all about concentrating energy into something productive, but sometimes tactical destruction is more effective than creation.” Khaji Da chirped. Jaime said, “Scarab’s a big fan of it, too.”</p><p>As Derek tore off a hubcap, he asked, “How did you meet?”</p><p>Jaime rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t call it ‘meet’ so much as he fused to me and made his presence known in every aspect of my life.”</p><p>Derek looked at him quizzically, head tilted. “I was talking about Bart.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Cymbals echoed across the junkyard as they gave the old vehicle a beating its owner probably deserved. Together, they yanked the sticker-covered bumper off and kicked it across the lot.</p><p>“How long have you known each other?” Derek asked.</p><p>“Since I was sixteen and he was thirteen.”</p><p>He scrunched his nose. “You dated a thirteen-year-old when you were in high school?”</p><p>Jaime shook his head. “Of course not—that’d be weird. We waited ‘till he was in college.”</p><p>“That makes sense.” Derek waved his hand. A glowing, zig-zagging fissure appeared on the ground. “Check this out.”</p><p>Jaime had a mini heart attack when Derek leaped in. Before he could follow, it closed.</p><p>“Khaji, what do I do?!?”</p><p>
  <b>[My scans show the Derek James will reappear—]</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Rfft. </em>
</p><p>The sky opened above the van.</p><p>
  <em> SLAM. </em>
</p><p>The roof caved under Derek’s weight. </p><p>
  <b>[—there.]</b>
</p><p>Derek slid down the side, arms spread out as though a crowd was cheering him on. “How’s that for tactical destruction?”</p><p>
  <b>[It is acceptable.]</b>
</p><p>“Scarab approves,” Jaime said. “I could’ve gone without the heart attack.”</p><p>“Didn’t the social workers tell you? I can create rifts and jump through dimensions. Pretty cool, huh? Freaked my mom out the first time I did that. Though I’m not a fan of the spider-people dimension.”</p><p>They went through a couple more cars, doing all but compact them into cubes, trading implements at one point. Derek created another rift, hurling the reattached tire iron through like a ninja star. The tire iron reappeared by another car, spinning, crashing through the windshield.</p><p>He pumped his fists. “Bullseye!”</p><p>Fully tactical destruction’d–out, they leaned back on the hood of an undamaged car. Derek took off his beanie and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Blinking red airplane lights crawled across the twinkling celestial plain. Luis brought them extra hot Takis and orange sodas, which they gratefully accepted.</p><p>Derek popped the cap off his bottle. “I’m sorry ‘bout the stuff I said earlier. To you and Bart.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay. No hard feelings,” Jaime said.</p><p>Their bottles clinked. They sat in silence for a few moments, save for the crunching and sipping.</p><p>Jaime asked, “Can I ask <em> why </em> you said those things?”</p><p>Derek hesitated. “I dunno. I guess you can call it an automatic reflex." He sighed. "The other foster parents... they only did it for the paycheck. They collected the money and tried to tell us what to do, but they never cared. Not like you guys. I guess… I didn’t know what else to do.”</p><p>Jaime nodded, lips pursed. </p><p>“This doesn’t mean I’m calling you Papá,” Derek said.</p><p>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Jaime took another sip. “That doesn’t change the fact that we see you as our kid.”</p><p>The boy let out a single chuckle. “Life’s more complicated than that.”</p><p>“I hear you,” Jaime said. “But the point still stands. You’re our kid, and we’re here for you—whatever makes you happy.”</p><p>Derek smiled. “Thanks.”</p><p>Once they got home, Jaime sent Derek to shower before tossing his jacket on the couch and wrapping his arms around Bart, who was now awake and putting the video games away.</p><p>Bart ran his fingers through Jaime’s sweaty hair. “Someone had fun.”</p><p>“How did you know?” Jaime asked.</p><p>“Derek’s smiling, plus you got the old car smell you always get when you go on your junkyard tactical destruction escapades.”</p><p>Jaime gaped. “How did you find out?”</p><p>“Babe, I’ve known you for well over twenty years. Nothing’s a secret,” Bart said. “Also, Milagro told me last time.” He glanced upstairs. “So you got through to him?”</p><p>“I’m on step One. Like I said, <em> amor</em>: patience.”</p><p>“I’m working on it.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>The phone rang. The scarab extended a tendril to pick it up.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>From the other end, a man—Felix, the social worker—spoke. “Hello, I am calling to update you about the Ramos family situation.”</p><p>Jaime nodded, putting the phone on speaker. “Yeah, um, how is that?”</p><p>Bart leaned forward.</p><p>Felix continued. “As of this morning, Rocio is in the final stages of her treatment plan and is slated to be released from the hospital this weekend. I talked to her, and we were thinking of scheduling a visitation next month when she is done with outpatient, if the boys are open to that.”</p><p>Jaime asked, “Does that mean she’s taking them back?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Felix said. “There is still a lot of paperwork and inspections to undergo, so you will continue to foster the boys. We simply wish to grant them a chance to see their mother.”</p><p>Bart cleared his throat. “And… how long will that be?”</p><p>“Hopefully not too long. As you know, our priority is to reunite the original families—once the process is complete, she will have full custody of her sons.” A keyboard clicked in the background. “Anyhow, shall I schedule the visit?”</p><p>Bart and Jaime glanced at each other, hesitation hanging in the air. Part of Jaime wanted to tell Rocio she couldn’t see her kids. Part of him wanted to raise the boys like his own. </p><p>But this wasn’t about him.</p><p>He swallowed the lump in his throat.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bart has been dreading this day since the phone call.</p><p>Derek was ecstatic when they told him; Manuel and Miguel seemed confused, but seeing their brother happy made them happy, so they celebrated with him. </p><p>Bart wanted to cry. Today it’s a visit. Next thing he knows, the boys will pack their bags and they’ll exchange the flimsiest of goodbyes and Bart will never see them again. </p><p>And the worst part was, he had nobody to blame. Felix said it: the goal was to reunite the original families as much as possible. If Rocio Ramos was set on improving herself and gaining her kids back, who was he to stop her? Even if he wanted to, it wasn’t like he had the power. Foster parents just looked after the kids—the system took care of the rest.</p><p>The car ride seemed to drag on forever until they pulled into the playground parking lot. Debra and Felix were already waiting. A woman in a blue dress with a purse slung over her shoulder stood between them. </p><p>The car stopped. Derek and the twins scrambled to unbuckle their seatbelts and toppled over each other as they jumped out. </p><p>Bart had to do a double-take as they walked over. Their mother looked so… <em> normal</em>. Completely unlike the dry-skinned, disheveled image of neglectful drug users that Bart had always known. He made a note to reexamine his personal biases.</p><p>Jaime stepped forward, extending a hand. “Rocio, right?”</p><p>Rocio smiled and said, “Yes, I am. You must be their foster parents.”</p><p>Beaming, Derek threw herself into her arms. “Mamá! I missed you so much.”</p><p>She laughed, returning the hug as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, <em> mijito</em>. I thought about you every single day. You’ve grown so much!”</p><p>“Enough small talk. We have a <em> ton </em>of catching up to do and there’s <em>so much </em> I wanna tell you. And I’m <em>stoked </em>that everything’s going as planned. We’ll be back together in no time!”</p><p>Rocio chuckled nervously, removing her hand from his hair. She said, “<em>Sí</em>. Everything’s happening so fast.”</p><p>Derek turned to his brothers. “<em>¡Vamos!</em>”</p><p>Manuel and Miguel glanced at each other, not moving from where they were, as though an invisible wall protruded from the sidewalk cracks.</p><p>Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “Come on, it’s our Mamá.”</p><p>Rocio sighed and said, “It’s okay, Derek. They’re too young.” She crouched to their height, holding out a hand. “Manuel, Miguel, you may not remember, but I am your mother.”</p><p>Slowly, they took her hand.</p><p>Debra turned to Bart and Jaime. “She’ll have them for the entire day. You two are free to do whatever you want.”</p><p>Bart plastered on a smile. “Crash.”</p><p>Though the social worker said they could, Bart and Jaime didn’t take off right away. Bart felt nauseated. He couldn’t blame the mother for her situation, and he couldn’t blame the kids for wanting to see her, and he couldn’t blame anyone when they eventually reunite. Bart imagined this was how Wally felt when he was trapped in the Speed Force watching the world pass by, unable to do anything about it.</p><p>Bart asked, “Am I a bad person for wanting her to go back into rehab?”</p><p>“Looks like we’re in the same boat,” Jaime said, “We can be bad people together.”</p><p>He rested his head on the steering wheel and sighed.</p><p>Jaime’s hand made its way between Bart’s shoulder blades. “Let’s try not to overthink it, <em> cariño </em>.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, we can meet with the others to take our minds off of things. Lunch is on Tim.”</p><p>Bart chuckled. “Isn’t it always?”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, they were at an open-air café with Tim, Milagro, and Irey. Bart had a pyramid of sandwiches in front of him, which barely had a dent. Jaime stirred his lukewarm coffee, barely touching his own food. While Tim scrolled through his phone, Milagro and Irey periodically glanced at each other as though they had a telepathic connection. </p><p>Milagro cleared her throat. “Alright, <em> hermano</em>, spill. What’s up?”</p><p>Bart and Jaime said, “Nothing.”</p><p>Irey snorted. “Liar. You’re moding us all out here.”</p><p>Eyebrows furrowing, Tim put his phone away. “You know you can tell us anything.”</p><p>Bart bit his lip. “What do you do when you know someone you love is gonna eventually leave you?”</p><p>“Die.”</p><p>Irey whacked Tim with a drink menu. “You Bats should be banned from giving advice.”</p><p>“I’m gonna lobby for that,” Milagro said.</p><p>Jaime chuckled. “I’ll sign the petition. But seriously, what should we do?”</p><p>Irey ran her fingers through her hair. “There’s only one thing you can do: let them know you care and that you’ll always be there for them, no matter how far apart you are.”</p><p>“Aw, I didn’t know you were a big softie,” Milagro teased.</p><p>“We Impulses have our moments,” Irey said. “Which reminds me, next time you go shopping, grab Chicken Whizees—we’re running low.”</p><p>A question lingered on Bart’s tongue: what if the kids didn’t want to keep contact? But he knew the answer, and the pill was a bitter one to swallow. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After doing three root canals, removing braces from a chatty preteen, getting bitten by a toddler, and having an old man fall asleep on him, Jaime wanted nothing but to plop down in front of the TV with his husband, children, and a tub of popcorn. But life had other plans.</p><p>Khaji Da clicked impatiently as they made their way to the front desk. “Jaime Reyes, here to pick up Derek James.”</p><p>“One moment, please,” said the receptionist. “Take a seat.”</p><p>They tapped their keyboard for what felt like hours, stopping multiple times to take agonizingly long sips of their coffee and check their phone.</p><p>Finally, they said, “Derek will be down shortly.”</p><p>Jaime rubbed his temples. </p><p>
  <b>[I advise you to refrain from reprimanding the Derek James until you uncover his motive.]</b>
</p><p>“And what, pray tell, would be a good reason to get detention?”</p><p>The receptionist gave Jaime a strange look.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said. “Just… nevermind.”</p><p>Derek emerged from an adjacent hallway, escorted by a teacher. The boy glared at the ground as though he was Superman burning holes in the carpet with laser vision. The receptionist quietly signed them out.</p><p>Jaime turned to the teacher. “Can I ask what he did?”</p><p>The teacher crossed his arms. “Mister James <em> attacked </em> another student.”</p><p>Derek rolled his eyes. “I punched him once. Quit acting like I committed a war crime.”</p><p>Jaime’s jaw dropped. “You shouldn’t be punching people at all!”</p><p>“Says you.” Derek adjusted his backpack, not looking the adults in the eye. “Let’s just get out of here.”</p><p>Driving down the traffic light–riddled road, a muggy silence filled the air. Jaime kept his eyes forward; he couldn’t say he was doing anything more than looking through the rain-covered windshield. Derek’s eyes were glued to his phone—no surprise there, though Jaime didn’t take him for a Candy Crush kid.</p><p>Jaime asked, “We gonna ignore the elephant in the car?”</p><p>Derek flipped the finger. Jaime’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He bit his tongue before he could say something they’d both regret. At least on Jaime’s end, today just sucked more and more.</p><p>They hadn’t even fully entered the garage when Derek hopped out, the car shaking as he slammed the door shut. The angry stomp broke into a half-sprint at the last few steps as he entered a rift.</p><p>“Khaji?”</p><p>
  <b>[The Derek James is in his bedroom.]</b>
</p><p>“Oh, thank God.”</p><p>Jaime tossed his jacket on the sofa and greeted Bart with a halfhearted peck. </p><p>“Something wrong?” Bart placed a hand on Jaime’s bicep.</p><p>Jaime sighed. “Derek got detention.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“He hit another kid.” Jaime leaned against the marble counter. “I get that he’s having a hard time, but I didn’t think he’d take it out on other people.”</p><p>“Did you ask him what happened?”</p><p>“That’s the thing,” Jaime said. “I don’t even know if I <em> should</em>. For all we know, asking could make things a million times worse and he’ll hate us more.”</p><p>“True, it could,” Bart said, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. I think Batman’s a pretty good example of what happens when you don’t ask.”</p><p>“Can you…”</p><p>Bart chuckled, placing a kiss on Jaime’s cheek. “You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.”</p><p>“Does this mean I can have some of your Chicken Whizees?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“It’s been twenty years!”</p><p>The twins were up to their usual antics, tossing and catching wild berry Skittles in their mouths. A couple of pictures decorated the wall—the twins’ baseball victory, an iPad–quality car selfie. The rest of the frames remained empty. Jaime made a mental note to water the plant by the stairs.</p><p>He knocked on the door. “Can we come in?”</p><p>There was a grunt which they’d learned was Derek-speak for “don’t care”.</p><p>Sat amongst rumpled sheets, Derek’s gaze was glued to the video games, thumbs flying over the control faster than a speedster. A shriek and slash sounded through the speakers. Bloodied guts splattered across the screen. </p><p>Jaime asked Bart, “Why did we let him buy this?”</p><p>Bart shrugged.</p><p>
  <b>[I approve.]</b>
</p><p>“‘Course you do,” Jaime muttered.</p><p>“What do you want?” Derek asked. </p><p>Jaime took a deep breath. “We want to talk to you about why you got detention.”</p><p>“You’re not in trouble,” Bart said. “Not yet, at least. We wanna know why you did it.”</p><p>Derek paused the game, not meeting their eyes. “You want it from the beginning?”</p><p>“It’s your call. Whatever you feel like telling us, we’ll listen. I’m invoking our No Judgment clause.”</p><p>“We have a No Judgement clause?”</p><p>“It’s for when I eat an entire cake by myself.”</p><p>“And when I watch sad <em>telenovelas</em>,” Jaime said.</p><p>Derek scooted aside, and for the next several minutes, he recounted every aspect of his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day—stepping in gum, tanking a history quiz, getting picked last in gym, leaving his homework at home, losing his favorite beanie. A pang rang through Jaime’s chest. Bart put an arm around Derek when he detailed how his girlfriend dumped him in front of the entire cafeteria with a hundred phones pointed and a hundred people laughing. </p><p>“Then this kid said gay couples shouldn’t adopt and used the f-word and… I don’t know,” Derek said. “The worst part is that asshole got away with it!”</p><p>Bart and Jaime exchanged glances.</p><p>Bart mouthed, <em> “What do we do?”  </em></p><p>Jaime cleared his throat and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Is there anything we can do to help?”</p><p>Derek shook his head. “It’s fine, I’ve had worse.”</p><p>“Just because you’ve had worse doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help,” Bart said, “but we respect that. In the future, you can always come to us.”</p><p>Derek smiled softly. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You guys <em>have </em>to <em>bring it</em>,” Manuel said. “We <em> need to </em> beat Mar’i for Most Awesome Parents.”</p><p>Miguel scanned their outfits. “Where are your work clothes?”</p><p>Bart glanced down at his lab coat, then at Jaime’s. “These <em> are </em> our work clothes.”</p><p>Manuel rolled his eyes as though Bart had just told a bald-faced lie. “No, it’s not. Where’s the Flash suit and Blue Beetle armor?”</p><p>Jaime laughed, ruffling Manuel’s hair. “<em>Mijito</em>, we have day jobs too. Plus, the whole ‘Beetle and Flash’ thing is supposed to be a secret.”</p><p>“But you do those too,” Miguel said.</p><p>“Your teacher wants us to talk about <em>realistic </em>careers, Miguel,” Bart said. “You two and Mar’i are the only people who can safely become superheroes.”</p><p>Miguel pouted. “Fine, but you gotta do something <em>awesome</em>. Mar’i’s dad showed us how to use a taser—by zapping himself!”</p><p>Jaime said, “Mar’i’s dad jumps off skyscrapers in nothing but spandex, so let’s take whatever he does and do the opposite, ’kay?”</p><p>While the kids sat at their desks, the parents stood the wall from the calendar poster to the art supply closet. Bart ruffled the twins’ hairs and joined the lineup. </p><p>It wasn’t hard to deduce which kid belonged to which adult. The girl reading <em> Where The Wild Things Are </em>had the same golden curls as her pilot father. A scrawny boy with enormous glasses compulsively clicked his pen; Bart matched him with the army soldier doing the same behind her back. The elderly florist shared the same stoic expression as their granddaughter in the front row. The truck driver and his son wore the same hat. Then there was Dick and Mar’i Grayson, singing the same song to memorize the multiplication table.</p><p>“Wonder what our kids get from us.”</p><p>Manuel was getting a head start on his science homework. Miguel was sneaking Chicken Whizees from inside his desk.</p><p>“I have no clue,” Jaime deadpanned. “Please, enlighten me.”</p><p>Bart playfully punched him, but a tiny balloon of pride swelled in his chest.</p><p>The teacher called everyone’s attention. “Alright, class. We have only two Career Day presentations left. Please welcome Manuel and Miguel’s fathers.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Bart laced his fingers with Jaime’s and stepped in front of the board.</p><p>“Hey, guys. I’m Bart and I’m a theoretical physicist researching gravitational time dilation at Keystone University.”</p><p>The kids stared blankly.</p><p>“I work with a lot of complex equations…” He sensed they were two seconds from dozing off. “But I hear you, that’s so boring and moded. My husband has a more interesting job. Tell ‘em, babe.”</p><p>“Um, sure,” Jaime said. “My name’s Jaime and I’m a dentist.”</p><p>“Gross,” said one girl.</p><p>The trucker’s son jabbed a finger in the twins’ direction. “You told us your parents were superheroes!”</p><p>“Yeah!” another girl said. “What gives?”</p><p>“Calm down,” the teacher said. “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.”</p><p>The pilot’s daughter sprang up. “They lied to us!”</p><p>“I-I-I thought w-we were g-gonna meet Flash and Bl-Blue Beetle.” The pen-clicking boy sounded disappointed.</p><p>The other parents shifted uncomfortably. Dick pursed his lips. Mar’i sunk into her chair when Manuel and Miguel looked to her for help. Their face turned beet red.</p><p>Bart nudged Jaime.</p><p>Jaime’s eyes widened, and he mouthed, <em> “Here?” </em></p><p>“What choice do we have?”</p><p>The teacher clapped out a rhythm, forcing the kids to do the same. The room silenced.</p><p>“I understand some of you are upset,” she said, “but we should still pay attention to our guests.” She gestured to Bart and Jaime. “Continue, please.”</p><p>Bart cleared his throat. “Right. So a physicist and a dentist. Those are our normal jobs. But we have another job too.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “This job is very important, but before we tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”</p><p>“Not even your dog,” Bart said, “otherwise it would mean the end of the world.”</p><p>Eyes wide, the kids nodded furiously, hanging off the edge of their seats.</p><p>“Ready?” Bart asked.</p><p>They nodded.</p><p>“On three,” he said. “One, two, three!”</p><p>He flipped open the Flash ring; Jaime’s armor covered his body.</p><p>Jaws fell to the floor. </p><p>A pin-drop silence filled the room.</p><p>“Lucky!”</p><p>“That’s so cool!”</p><p>“I want superhero parents!”</p><p>A flood of children surrounded them (except Manuel, Miguel, and Mar’i), and with them came a flood of questions.</p><p>“How fast can you run?”</p><p>“What’s Green Arrow like?”</p><p>“Can I touch the beetle thingy?”</p><p>Jaime said, “675 million miles per hour, a terrible cook, and I don’t think the scarab would appreciate that. Everyone else, one at a time, please.”</p><p>From the hallway, a familiar face caught Bart’s eye. He excused him and slipped out. Bart ducked behind a trash can and changed out of his uniform.</p><p>“Hey.” Bart tapped her shoulder. “You look, um, lost.”</p><p>Rocio turned around and smiled. “Oh! Bart, right? I was looking for Manuel and Miguel’s classroom. Derek told me today is Career Day.”</p><p>Bart glanced at the classroom. On the other side of the window, the elementary-schoolers climbed Jaime’s armor like a jungle gym to the dismay of a frazzled teacher. Rocio followed his gaze.</p><p>She swallowed. “I see.”</p><p>Bart scratched the back of his neck. “I-I’m super sorry if I overstepped or anything. Manuel and Miguel asked us to come, so like…”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Rocio sighed. “I was hoping I could get to know my sons and their friends. If it helps, I got a new job last week as a museum guide.” She gestured to her new blazer and skirt.</p><p>“That’s amazing,” Bart said. “You know, I’m sure there’s enough time to get you in. Career Day’s for all parents, right?”</p><p>“Derek may have the memories, but the twins were only babies when…” She shook her head. “They do not remember me. You have been more of a parent to them than I.”</p><p>“<em>Psh</em>, I wouldn’t say that.”</p><p>“It is true,” Rocio said. “Next week will have been one year—the longest they have spent with anybody.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You have much to be proud of.”</p><p>The lunch bell rang.</p><p>Rocio adjusted her purse. “I should get going. I have another shift.” Despite being half a foot shorter, she looked Bart straight in the eye. “I could not think of anyone better to take care of my sons. Thank you.”</p><p>She disappeared before Bart could get a word in, fading into the noontime rush. Bart blinked as though she was a hallucination.</p><p>A hand touched his shoulder. Bart whirled around and pinned the culprit against the lockers.</p><p>“<em>Ese</em>, <em> ese</em>, it’s just me,” Jaime said. </p><p>“Oh.” Bart coughed. “Sorry I… nevermind.”</p><p>“Before you tell me what’s up, can you let me go?”</p><p>“Right.” He brushed his hands on his pants as Manuel and Miguel exited the room, following their friends to the cafeteria.</p><p>“They said parents can stay for lunch,” Jaime said. “You good with dino nuggets?”</p><p>“I’m not hungry,” Bart said.</p><p>Jaime’s brows furrowed. He pressed the back of his hand to Bart’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay, <em> cariño</em>? Should I call the doctor?”</p><p>Bart sighed. “I can’t keep secrets from you, can I?”</p><p>Jaime shook his head.</p><p>He smiled softly, taking Jaime’s hand. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But can we get lunch first? If I heard correctly, you said something about dino nuggets?”</p><p>“Then you’ll tell me what’s going on?”</p><p>Bart nodded. “Everything.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Thank you for taking time out of your workdays to meet with us,” said Debra. “We have some important updates.”</p><p>Jaime shifted in the scratchy office chair. Khaji Da rattled off a list of potential outcomes, but that was easy to tune out once someone else started talking. Bart’s hands were perfectly still, and he didn’t look anyone in the eye, as though he was a fortune-teller bearing a grim prophecy.</p><p>“What is it?” Jaime asked.</p><p>Debra smiled. “The paperwork has gone through and Rocio passed her inspection. The kids will return to her at the end of the week.”</p><p>A rock sank to the bottom of Jaime’s stomach.</p><p>
  <em> This can’t be happening. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[I can confirm, it is happening, Jaime Reyes.]</b>
</p><p>
  <em> What about us? What about our family? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[The aim was to reunite the original family units, and it is being fulfilled as expected.]</b>
</p><p>
  <em> But— </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Jaime Reyes, it will benefit you to accept the inevitable. The offspring will be in a more optimal environment with their mother.]</b>
</p><p>He put on his most convincing smile. “That’s fantastic! I’m sure they’ll be in excellent hands.”</p><p>Bart nodded, lips a thin line. “We just want what’s best for them, and we can help them… get ready.”</p><p>Debra clapped. “Excellent! We will pick them up Friday morning.”</p><p>As they stepped out of the building, Bart pulled his jacket closer despite the sun warming the parking lot. He could only describe the energy radiating from him as a melancholic space heater. He plopped down on the curb.</p><p>“It’s really happening, is it?”</p><p>Jaime wrapped his arms around Bart; Bart leaned in and buried his face in his husband’s shoulder.</p><p>“It’s my fault,” Bart said, “for getting too attached.”</p><p>“No, it’s not,” Jaime said. “You’re doing exactly what a parent should: love their kids.”</p><p>“But they’re <em>not </em>ours. They never were. And it…” He trailed off.</p><p>“Hurts, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Bart nodded.</p><p>“I know, <em> cariño</em>.” Jaime squeezed his husband. “I don’t want them to leave, either.”</p><p>They stayed there for a few moments, as though time froze and they could process things as long as they wanted with no consequences. Maybe in this bubble, they could be the perfect little family, and the boys would call them Dad and Papá, and nothing in the world could tear them apart.</p><p>Bart cleared his throat. “We should probably get going. Help them… you know.”</p><p>Jaime nodded numbly. </p><p>The following days, a fog of tension hung around the house. In every homework question and dad joke, the question of if it’d be the last lingered in the back of everyone’s minds. Derek was the least nervous—his eyes twinkled at the prospect of being with his mother again. The twins smiled with their brother but hugged Bart and Jaime a little longer before school each morning. Dinners and game nights happened, with no one mentioning the elephant in the room. After all, if no one acknowledges it, it <em>technically </em>doesn’t exist.</p><p>That final evening dragged out for eternity, as though something trapped them inside the Speed Force, and Jaime was almost relieved when it came time to send the kids to bed. Jaime tucked himself under the duvet, flicked on the lamp, and opened his book to the dog-eared page. Bart was taking his sweet time in the shower—a full ten seconds, compared to his usual three and a half.</p><p>Bart slipped under the covers and didn’t even wait until Jaime put the book away before climbing on top, snaking his arms around Jaime’s torso, and smashing their lips together. Jaime drank in the feeling for a moment before pulling apart.</p><p>Bart’s finger hooked around Jaime’s waistband. “I could use a distraction.”</p><p>“Me too,” Jaime said. “But won’t they hear us?”</p><p>Thunder shook the house. The lights blinked out. A torrent slammed the side of the house, over and over, like a child roughly playing with a LEGO building. Bart’s warm breath tickled Jaime’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine as he closed his eyes and let his body do the work.</p><p>“I think we’ll be fine.”</p><p>Bart’s lips barely grazed Jaime’s skin when the door flew open. They scrambled apart as a pair of teary-eyed speedsters hoisted themselves onto the bed. </p><p>A messy-haired Derek followed suit, rambling, “Sorry, they’re not a fan of storms. I tried to tell them not to bother you—”</p><p>“<em>Cálmate, mijo, </em> you aren’t bothering us at all. It’s our job.”</p><p>Jaime and Bart each took a twin in their arms while the corner of the foot of the bed sank ever so hesitantly. </p><p>Another thunderclap sounded. The twins curled closer like pill bugs. Manuel looked up with big brown eyes that made Jaime all but coo out loud.</p><p>Manuel said, “They sound like guns in the sky, Papá.”</p><p>Jaime rubbed circles on Manuel’s back. “<em>Shh</em>, it’s okay, <em>chiquito</em>. We’ll protect you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to keep calling them that,” Derek said. “Mom’s coming tomorrow.”</p><p>Miguel nuzzled into Bart’s chest. “Will she hold us when it thunders?”</p><p>Bart and Jaime glanced at each other.</p><p>Jaime pursed his lips. “I’m sure she will.”</p><p>“Can we stay here?” Miguel asked.</p><p>“Of course,” said Bart, ruffling the kid’s curly locks. He looked at Derek. “You’re welcome to stay too—there’s plenty of space.”</p><p>Derek paused, deliberating for a moment, before nestling between his brothers.</p><p>“Let’s just sleep,” he said. “We got a big morning ahead of us.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s official: wrangling Reach drones is ten times easier than whatever the <em>heck </em>was going on that morning. Bart wished he was an octopus because he needed <em>that </em>many arms to balance the chaos. On one arm he carried three backpacks like a classroom coat rack—no way were the kids using garbage bags again—and with the other, he balanced a stack of textbooks that Derek had asked him to hold and never came back for. The phone kept ringing off the hook, and at some point, Bart lumped it with the nonsense background clamor, alongside the rattling air conditioner and the neighbor’s lawnmower. </p><p>Miguel sprinted up to Bart, holding up two mismatching socks—one red and one blue. “Dad, I can’t find the other two!”</p><p>Manuel ran up to him too, holding one blue and one red sock. “I can’t find them either!”</p><p>Bart bent down and switched them, chuckling when the boys’ faces lit up in realization.</p><p>“Everything else packed?” he asked. “Clothes all fit in the new carry-on?”</p><p>The phone rang again.</p><p>Bart cried out. He shoved the cell phone into the knife drawer and slammed it shut. One less distraction in the way. </p><p>“Clothes are done—” Miguel said.</p><p>“—and school stuff—” said Manuel.</p><p>“—and toys—”</p><p>“—and iPads—”</p><p>“—and chargers—”</p><p>“—and snacks—”</p><p>“—and toilet plunger.”</p><p>Bart flashed them a thumbs-up. “Awesome—<em>wait, what was that last one? </em>”</p><p>The twins were already gone. Bart placed the books on the table next to Jaime’s phone, which was <em>also </em>ringing incessantly. He stuffed his husband’s phone between <em> General Biology II </em> and <em> American History: 1945 to Today</em>.</p><p>Bart called up the stairs. “Come on, the social workers are gonna be here any minute!”</p><p>Derek slid down the banister with his bags tucked under his arms. “I’m here! Ready to go whenever you are.”</p><p>Before Bart could stop himself, he threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I’m gonna miss you.”</p><p>Derek stiffened. “Um… back at’cha, I guess?”</p><p>Jaime trotted downstairs with a twin in each arm and the scarab’s tendrils carrying all the bags. He checked his watch. “The workers should be here by now.”</p><p>Derek shrugged. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic, like when we first arrived.”</p><p>“They shouldn’t be,” Jaime said. “Rush hour ended thirty minutes ago.”</p><p>That gave them enough time to… </p><p>Khaji Da set the bags down and drew them all in—probably its version of a group hug.</p><p>“Aw, I didn’t know Scarab was such a softie,” Bart half-joked, blinking away the tears at the corner of his eyes. “Kids, no matter how far apart we are, know that we love you so, <em> so </em> much, and nothing in the world can change that.”</p><p>
  <em> Ding-dong. </em>
</p><p>Bart sniffled, feeling Jaime’s arm around his shoulders. “Guess this is it.”</p><p>They opened the door to find Felix and Debra—as expected. But wasn’t Rocio supposed to be with them? The courteous smile on Bart’s fade faded when he saw their grim expressions.</p><p>Derek grabbed the luggage and said, “Manuel, Miguel, come on. Mom’s waiting.” He dropped the bags at the doorframe as soon as he noticed his mother’s absence. “W-where is she?”</p><p>“That’s why we were trying to reach you,” Debra said. “We’ve been calling all morning, but we didn’t get an answer.”</p><p>“Shoot,” Bart said. “That’s on me, I put the phones away to get rid of distractions.”</p><p>“That is understandable,” Felix said, adjusting his beige blazer. “We figured this conversation may be more appropriate in-person, anyway.”</p><p>Derek cut in. “That doesn’t answer my question. Where is my mother?”</p><p>Debra looked at him with an apologetic expression, and Bart could tell she was trying to maintain the tricky balance between a professional composure and a sincere one.</p><p>She sighed. “She’s not coming.”</p><p>Derek shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You’ve got your kids mixed up. Our mom’s taking us back and we’ll be a family again. That’s the plan.”</p><p>Bart reached out. “Derek…”</p><p>Derek slapped Bart’s hand away. “<em> No! </em> Something small might’ve happened, but it’s nothing we can’t figure out. We’ll be okay. M-maybe she overslept, o-or maybe you got your documents mixed up. I-I can look it over—I helped my mom fill in hers. It’s no big deal, and it shouldn’t stop her from bringing us home. Did you guys check on her? Did she tell you something?”</p><p>Felix’s lips were a thin, papery line. “She said she did not feel as though she is ready or capable to be a parent again.”</p><p>“No. No no no, that’s not right.” Derek jabbed his finger in Felix’s tie. “You’re lying to me! My mom told us how much she misses us. She said she <em>loves </em>us. She’s been following all the plans and went through all the work. W-why would she back out?</p><p>“Derek, we would not lie to you,” Felix said.</p><p>“Then how come—”</p><p>“We stopped by her house.” Debra’s tone softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. She’s using again.”</p><p>Jaime’s hand flew to his mouth. Stomach dropping, Bart motioned for the twins to go upstairs, to which they complied.</p><p>“Of course, this means you will continue staying in this residence for the foreseeable future.” Felix shifted. “That is all we have for you. If you need anything else, contact us.”</p><p>They sent the social workers off with a numb thanking, nobody meeting anybody’s eyes. Frozen to his spot, Derek stared at the closed door, eyes glossed over.</p><p>Jaime placed a tentative hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, <em> chiquito</em>.”</p><p>Derek let out a single hollow laugh, throwing his hands up. “What’s there to be sorry about? I should’ve seen this coming. Everything was working too perfectly, so of course it’s too good to be true. I’m just sorry that I got my hopes up, you know?” Running his fingers through his hair, he shrugged Jaime’s hand off and tossed his backpack aside. “Whatever. Screw it.”</p><p>Bart’s heart clenched. “Derek, I know this is a lot to process—”</p><p>“<em>YOU DON’T KNOW FUCK ALL!</em>”</p><p>The couple reeled. Derek’s face reddened as sharp teardrops cast lightning bolts on his cheeks. </p><p>“Don’t act like you know my mom, don’t act like you know my brothers, and don’t act like you know me ‘cause you <em> don’t </em> and you <em> never will</em>.” He swiped at the tears. “You don’t know what it’s like. I was there when she took the first pill, so I know it was a dumb decision made in a bad headspace, b-but she’s a good woman and a good mom and she deserves a second chance!”</p><p>“And we don’t doubt that,” Jaime said, “but right now—”</p><p>“Right now, we’re supposed to be a normal family!” </p><p>Derek kicked another bag. Hard. </p><p>“I’m supposed to be home with her and everything’s supposed to be okay!”</p><p>“Derek,” Bart pleaded. “Can we please sit down and—”</p><p>“To hell with this place. I’m outta here!”</p><p>
  <em> RFFT. </em>
</p><p>A thin rift tore through the floor, swallowing potted plants and an empty Nerf gun like a whirlpool. Without so much as a glance back, Derek leaped in. It zipped up before Bart or Jaime could react.</p><p>“We gotta do something!” Bart said.</p><p>Jaime’s armor wrapped around his body, and he pulled up a screen on his arm. “I’m calculating the location of his exit portal.” His fingers flew over the keys. “Next one opens in forty-five seconds…” Jaime’s eyes widened. “Fifty miles?!?”</p><p>“I got this.” Bart flipped open his Flash ring. “Send me the coordinates. He might hate our guts, but we’re <em> not </em> let anything happen to him.”</p><p>“Hang on, what about the twins?”</p><p>Bart cursed. “You’re right, we can’t leave them home alone.” </p><p>He zipped to the textbook stack, unlocked Jaime’s phone, and hit call. Bart’s foot-tapping practically burned a hole in the floor as the tone stretched for eternity.</p><p>From the other end, a young woman asked, “What’s up?”</p><p>“Irey! No time to explain. Jaime and I need someone to watch the twins.”</p><p>
  <em> WHOOSH! </em>
</p><p>Irey appeared with Milagro in her arms, the latter wearing a flour-dusted apron.</p><p>“Thanks, I owe you one!” Bart said.</p><p>Irey smiled. “You can count on us.”</p><p>The cozy suburbs gave way to dusty outskirts, and the daunting familiarity of the El Paso plains dawned on Bart. Jaime had the coordinates, but what if they weren’t fast enough? What if they couldn’t find him? What if something happened? God knows what’s out there—coyotes and serial killers and <em>chupacabras </em>—</p><p>No. This was no time to spiral.</p><p>
  <em> Focus. </em>
</p><p>As he sped up, Bart put a finger to his comm. “Flash to Blue Beetle, what’s our ETA?”</p><p>“Veer left, and the portal opens in ten seconds.”</p><p>The speedster’s soles skimmed the soft surface, spraying sand like a jet ski on the sea, the sun beating down on the exposed skin. He shielded his eyes as he bounded over the curved dunes, not stopping once to see if Jaime caught up. Jaime can find his way. Bart needed to get to Derek.</p><p>The swirling yellow vortex in the sky confirmed their coordinates. Derek plummeted toward the Earth—not in a panicked, flailing limbs way, but gracefully, like Nightwing leaping from the Wayne Enterprises tower, heavy as a feather when he hit the dirt.</p><p>“Derek!” Bart took off his cowl. “Oh thank God, are you okay? Are you hurt?”</p><p>“Don’t,” Derek growled. From under his jacket, he drew the Nerf gun. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot.”</p><p>Bart stepped back, putting his hands up in surrender. “Alright, you got me. Now can we talk?”</p><p>Gravel crunched as Jaime landed beside Bart. He opened his mouth, but Bart motioned him to be quiet, not taking his eyes off the kid.</p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Derek. “Now go away.”</p><p>“You know we can’t leave you in the middle of nowhere,” Bart said. “Put the gun down and we can figure this out together.”</p><p>He didn’t flinch when Derek put a finger on the orange trigger. Toy gun, empty threat, a very real teenager filled with very real superpowers and very real emotions.</p><p>“I know you don’t like us—”</p><p>“Shut up, Wannabe Parent.”</p><p>“—but we care about you,” Bart said. “You’re right, we’re not your real parents, but we’re <em> here</em>.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “That’s right, Derek. We’re here and we love you.”</p><p>“Liar! You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”</p><p>“True,” Bart said, “but we <em>want </em>to know you. We want to know everything you were, everything you are, and everything you’re going to be. Most importantly, we want you to be happy, but we can only do that if you let us in.”</p><p>Derek dropped the gun and stumbled forward. He fell to his knees. Bart caught him. A single sob escaped Derek’s lips.</p><p>“<em>Why doesn’t she want me?</em>”</p><p>Any words on Bart’s tongue evaporated. Derek threw his face into Bart’s chest. Tears dampened the Flash logo. Bart wrapped his arms around the boy’s trembling frame. Derek asked over and over, as though each time yielded a greater chance of eliciting a response. Bart tried to swallow the uncertainty, but bitter reality lodged itself in his throat. </p><p>“I don’t know, Derek. I don’t know.” He squeezed tighter as another sob wracked the boy’s body. And another. Rubbing small circles on Derek’s back, Bart said, “Take your time. I don’t mind waiting.”</p><p>Minutes passed. They settled on a comfy rock, warmed by the near-noon sun. Bart stood still, just as time seemed to. And he waited.</p><p>Derek drew a knee to his chest. “I’m sorry I called you all those things.”</p><p>“Apology accepted.” Bart put his arm around Derek.</p><p>“And we’re sorry for trying to force ourselves into a role in your life without asking you how you felt about it,” Jaime said. “Family’s a two-way street.”</p><p>“I guess I got too caught up in what used to be, y’know?” Derek dried his eyes. “You think we can try this whole ‘new family’ thing again?”</p><p>Bart smiled. “Of course we can.”</p><p>“M’kay,” Derek said. “Not gonna say ‘I love you’ yet, though—that’d be too cheesy.”</p><p>Jaime laughed, ruffling Derek’s hair. “Don’t worry, <em> chiquito</em>. You go at your own pace.”</p><p>Just then, Jaime’s phone rang. He made a “one second” motion.</p><p>“<em>Hola, hermana. ¿Qué pasa?</em>”</p><p>His expression quickly morphed into one of concern as he motioned for Bart and Derek to get up. </p><p>He covered the speaker. “They’re taking Manuel to the ER.”</p><p>Derek’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”</p><p>Jaime put the phone to his ear, nodding along to whatever Milagro was saying before turning back to them. “He cut himself in the knife drawer. Something about a phone in there?”</p><p>Bart cursed so loud that a desert squirrel stopped to shoot him an offended glare.</p><p>“Well, what are we waiting for? Come on, I’m pretty sure I can run all three of us.”</p><p>“No need,” Derek said, determination coloring his face.</p><p>Hand held out, he stepped forward. A T-shaped fissure tore through the ground, sand and slate rock fragments falling through. </p><p>“Follow me.”</p><p>They had no choice but to do that when Derek jumped in. Jaime’s wings extended as they dove through, catching Bart by the armpits. The wind rushed through Bart’s hair and whipped his face as they plunged toward a strangely LEGO-like Gotham City, with Derek falling several feet below them.</p><p>
  <em> RFFT! </em>
</p><p>They fell through the second rift, and there was a moment of awkwardness when Jaime made eye contact with another Blue Beetle, who was working with Batman to battle a corrupted dictator Superman.</p><p>
  <em> RFFT! </em>
</p><p>Bart recognized this dimension. He shielded his nose from the ash, hoping Jaime didn’t notice the Big Bad on the barren ground below. Luckily, the next portal opened in mid-air.</p><p>
  <em> RFFT! </em>
</p><p>They fell past a horde of people dressed in various spider-themed costumes swinging around New York.</p><p>“Still hate this dimension,” Derek said.</p><p>
  <em> RFFT! </em>
</p><p>The last rift opened in front of the hospital. Thrusters activated, the scarab extended a tendril and caught Derek before the latter could touch the concrete sidewalk. Derek waved his hand, and the rift disappeared, thankfully before anyone could see it. Jaime’s armor retracted.</p><p>Bart sprinted to the front desk. “I’m here to see Manuel Ramos.”</p><p>The white-haired receptionist peered at him from over her bifocals. “And you are?”</p><p>“His father,” Bart answer. “Er, his foster father.”</p><p>She pointed down a beige hallway.</p><p>He found Milagro and Irey at the end; the latter held a stained rag. Miguel stood next to them, too short to see through the window into the room bustling with doctors and nurses, leaning into Milagro’s side as he chewed his pinky nail. Jaime and Derek slipped into the room right as Irey, on the verge of tears, spoke.</p><p>“I’m <em>so so so so </em>sorry. The doctors say it’s not too bad, but I should’ve kept a closer eye on them. I shouldn’t have let them go digging through the kitchen.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay.” Bart put a hand on her arm, steadying her shakiness. “Accidents happen. Nobody’s blaming you.”</p><p>Miguel looked up. “Dad, is Manuel gonna be okay?”</p><p>“Yes, he’ll be okay,” Bart said. “Your brother’s really brave, and so are you.”</p><p>Milagro said, “You go on in. We’ll keep an eye on this little <em> velocista </em> for you.”</p><p>“And this time it’s a promise,” Irey said.</p><p>Bart almost wanted to walk out as soon as he heard the cries. Doctors and nurses surrounded Manuel. Derek held his brother’s uninjured hand, whispering words of comfort in Spanish, while Jaime provided a clipboard-holding nurse with Manuel’s information.</p><p>Manuel screamed when the doctor pulled taut another suture. Bart zipped over.</p><p>“Hey, buddy. Dad’s here. Can you look at me?” Bart asked, running his fingers through Manuel’s sweat-damp curls. </p><p>Manuel looked at him and whimpered.</p><p>Bart continued. “You’re doing great, buddy—better than the entire Justice League.”</p><p>He didn’t look at the bloody clothes and swollen skin; he blocked the doctors’ chattering from his mind completely. Someone was probably wondering why some dude in a dusty Flash costume was fussing over a little boy, but none of it mattered. This wasn’t about him. He kept his eyes on the kid—<em> his </em>kid, because documents be damned—assuring and reassuring that everything was going to be alright.</p><p>The staff began cleaning up and Bart said, “See? It’s all over. You’re a real superhero, you know that?”</p><p>Derek dried Miguel’s cheeks with the corner of his sleeve. “No more crying, okay? We’re proud of you, kid.”</p><p>Jaime planted a kiss on Manuel's head. “<em>Esto no volverá a pasar, lo prometo</em>.”</p><p>The doctor ushered Milagro, Irey, and Miguel in. The latter two ran up to Manuel’s bedside, but Milagro remained in the hall, talking to somebody, though Bart couldn’t see whom it was from behind the black plastic shutters.</p><p>Irey was in the middle of promising everyone ice cream and front-row movie tickets as the “super fun, super crash not-Milagro aunt” when someone knocked on the metal doorframe.</p><p>“The social workers are here,” Milagro said. “They want an explanation.”</p><p>“I’ll go,” said Bart.</p><p>“Don’t,” Derek said. “I can handle this.”</p><p>“Derek, you don’t have to,” Jaime said. “Bart and I can handle this.”</p><p>Derek’s expression hardened. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”</p><p>“You probably do,” Bart said, “but you don’t have to.”</p><p>“Yes, I do,” Derek said. “If it weren’t for me being immature, you could’ve looked after the twins and we wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“You weren’t immature, and this isn’t your obligation.”</p><p>Jaime nodded. “We’re the parents. This is our responsibility.”</p><p>Derek exploded. </p><p>“Don’t you get it?!? This is the <em>exact </em>shit they take kids away for! Manuel and Miguel love you and they would be <em>devastated </em>if we had to leave. I made this mess, so <em> please</em>, just this once, <em> let me do what’s best for my family</em>.”</p><p>Bart and Jaime glanced at each other. </p><p>“Alright, we trust you.”</p><p>Jaime closed the window blinds and turned back to the others, a smile quirking his lips. “If I have the record straight, after this we’re getting ice cream, going to the movies, and buying Build-A-Bears?”</p><p>“Yep.” Irey nodded. “I’ll be the crashest aunt ever!”</p><p>“You forgot to add a Disneyland trip,” Milagro drawled.</p><p>“Ooh, great idea!”</p><p>The Reyes siblings shared a <em> look</em>, which Bart never understood. It only ever happened when he and/or Irey said words or did actions.</p><p>Somewhere in the conversation, Miguel had acquired a piece of scrap paper and a doctor’s pen. He turned his drawing—a collection of similar-looking, different-sized bubble figures—to the adults. “<em>¡Mira, es nuestro familia!</em>” Miguel pointed to each figure. “Look, here’s me and Manuel and Derek, and here’s Aunt Irey and Tía Milagro. And on the two ends are Dad and Papá!”</p><p>Bart cooed. It was officially the cutest thing he’d ever seen—and he’s met Krypto the Superdog.</p><p>“Aw,” Jaime said. “This is <em> definitely </em> going on the fridge.”</p><p>Irey turned to Milagro, eyebrow raised. “Aunt? Does this mean you’re finally gonna propose?”</p><p>Milagro rolled her eyes. “Patience, <em> cariña</em>.”</p><p>“We’re in a hospital. This place is full of patients!”</p><p>Bart laughed. Jaime, Milagro, and the twins groaned.</p><p>Before Irey could drop another pun, Derek jogged in. </p><p>He smiled.</p><p>“We’re staying.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was downright impossible for Jaime Reyes to get a peaceful bathroom break in his own home.   </p><p>He stopped locking the door eons ago because his husband would just phase through and ask what to put on the shopping list, or his eldest son would ask for help on his AP Biology lab report, or one of his twins would ask if he could turn the leaf blower into a jet pack, or one of his <em>other </em>twins would ask why penguins look like they’re wearing tuxedos.</p><p>The last time he got the bathroom to himself was when Bart took the kids to their aunts’ house. Even then, he left it unlocked, because what other option did he have?</p><p>So he signed the papers, as one does, thus guaranteeing he will never have the bathroom to himself ever again for the rest of his life—and that’s exactly what he’s been getting for the past eighteen months.</p><p><em> Zwoop</em>.</p><p>Speak of the devils.</p><p>Bart asked, “Do you want lettuce and tomato on your BLT?”</p><p>As Jaime opened his mouth to answer, Miguel zipped past Bart’s legs. “Manuel ate my donut! <em> And then he hit me! </em>”</p><p>“No, I didn’t,” Manuel said, face covered in strawberry frosting.</p><p>
  <em> Rfft. </em>
</p><p>Derek emerged from a portal in the shower carrying a TRON-style fishing rod. “Hey Pops, I found this lying around the other dimension. Can I keep it?”</p><p>Jaime started from the top. “That’s the point of a BLT, apologize to your brother, and after the Justice League inspects it.”</p><p>“Crash! And hurry—we got something to show you.”</p><p>As he made his way down the hall, Jaime smiled at the colorful photographs that painted the once-barren walls.</p><p>
  <em> It’s their first Gotcha Day. Jaime had the papers ready, sealed in a superhero-themed envelope. Milagro baked a cake; somehow, Bart and Irey went the entire afternoon without eating it. They acted normal throughout dinner and unveiled the surprise after. Irey pressed the camera button and zoomed into the frame before the flash went off. </em>
</p><p>The still frames came to life.</p><p>
  <em> It’s Derek’s seventeenth birthday. Manuel and Miguel saved their allowance to buy one actual gift and one gag gift (a deck of cards with all aces). They went to the arcade where they met Derek’s new girlfriend—an introvert with a knack for cosplay. There was pizza and soda for a century. Khaji Da cheated the grip strength tester; Bart and the twins dominated in laser tag. Derek balanced on the rickety table and took a group selfie. </em>
</p><p>Each one was a movie.</p><p>
  <em> It’s Christmas Eve. The fireplace flickered, amber flames licking the logs. Manuel and Miguel tried to sneak a peek at their presents, but Irey had eyes like a hawk. Derek, along with Jaime’s parents, strung lights along the room while Jaime and Milagro cooked. Bart snapped the picture from atop the stairs. </em>
</p><p>A window to another world.</p><p>
  <em> Manuel and Miguel had joined the Boy Scouts. The troop had their annual camping trip; canoeing, pitching tents, archery—the standard. Jaime volunteered to be the chaperone. One of the other parents caught the moment his tie caught on fire trying to make s’mores. Khaji Da’s lecture was not one to forget. </em>
</p><p>Their world.</p><p>
  <em> Jaime couldn’t recall the exact date—it might’ve been a Tuesday; Jaime remembered it was in September. It wasn’t a holiday or anything special. Bart had worked overtime, covering Wally’s shift at the lab. As soon as he got home, he passed out on the couch. Manuel and Miguel—exhausted from baseball practice. Derek was there too, worn out from midterms and chores. The three curled up in the crooks of Bart’s body, like bear cubs with their papa. It was everything Jaime wanted. How could he not steal a snapshot? </em>
</p><p>A call startled Jaime out of his daydream.</p><p>“We’re waiting, Blue!”</p><p>Jaime slid down the banister and greeted his husband with a kiss, ignoring the kids’ overdramatic disgusted expressions.</p><p>“You wanted to show me something?”</p><p>“Yep.” Bart gave the kids a “now” signal.</p><p>From behind their backs, the boys unveiled matching stone-washed denim bucket hats covered in cheap buttons and badges. Each had their name written in neon fabric paint, and Sharpie drawings marginally set them apart from each other. At least they didn’t smell like the river, unlike Bart’s.</p><p>“Oh joy,” Jaime said. “It made babies.”</p><p>“Well, you know, it can’t make babies without…” Bart drew another hat from the picnic basket. “A partner.”</p><p>Jaime’s eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”</p><p>“I knew you’d say that. Guys, initiate Plan B.”</p><p>Three pairs of puppy eyes looked up at him. Four, including Bart.</p><p>“<em>Gah!</em>” Jaime snatched the hat. “Fine, you win!”</p><p>“Crash! Everyone, in the car.”</p><p>Before Jaime’s rear touched the seat, Derek reached over the cup holders and gear shift and began fiddling with the radio. </p><p>
  <em> Pop, country, Eighties rock… </em>
</p><p>Satisfied, Derek sat back and allowed the hip-hop station to blast over the speakers. That didn’t last long, for the song immediately dropped a string of dirty words. Bart switched it to KidzBop, but a second too late.</p><p>“What’s a ‘booze’?” Miguel asked.</p><p>“It’s what ghosts say to scare people,” Bart said. “Or what Derek’s gonna say when I tell him he lost his radio privileges for the rest of the week.”</p><p>“<em>Booo</em>,” Derek said.</p><p>The drive was loud and distracting and <em>where did they get silly string</em>, but in the best way possible. Derek complained every time the KidzBop track censored the songs. Between games of I Spy, the twins bombarded Bart and Jaime with questions like <em> “why does Superman have laser eyes” </em> and <em> “how many M&amp;Ms are there in the universe” </em> (Jaime left those to Khaji Da). </p><p>The sun shone on Jaime’s skin as they pulled up to the creekside. Warm sand seeped through his sandals and in the crevices of his toes. Ducks flocked the invisible crumbs on the gravel road. A willow rustled. </p><p>Jaime offered Bart his arm like they were walking down the aisle on their wedding day again. He barely registered the scarab rattle off about elevated vitals. </p><p>Linked like a pinkie promise, they made their way down the sandbar. The other three had run ahead—the twins connected with their speed and Derek with his portals. Jaime laid the checkered blanket on the sandbar and gestured to the spot next to him.</p><p>“Such a gentleman,” Bart said. “I’m swooning.”</p><p>Jaime placed a finger under Bart’s chin. “Only for you, <em> mi mitad más dulce</em>.”</p><p>When it came to kisses, each one felt like the first. Eyes sliding shut, Jaime took in the feeling of Bart’s hands making their way up his shoulders. Jaime suspected he’d have one less strip of bacon in his sandwich. The thought disappeared from his mind as fast as it appeared, leaving them in their perfect little pocket of time. He smiled, Bart did the same.</p><p>They pulled apart and rested their foreheads against each other. The twinkle in their eyes, the slow blinks, and synced heartbeats said more than those three little words ever could. Bart nestled against Jaime’s side.</p><p>Sun sparks danced along the ripples. Newly spawned minnows darted back and forth in search of a first meal. Stacked on top of each other, Manuel and Miguel sprinted along the bank, giggling maniacally. Derek stood knee-deep in water, grinning from ear to ear as he aimed Nerf darts through tiny portals, trying to land a hit on his brothers.</p><p>“I think we’re doing pretty a good job,” Bart said.</p><p>Jaime planted a kiss on his husband’s head. “Indeed, <em> mi amor</em>. We have much to be proud of.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The kitchen knife and ER incident would have triggered a full-blown investigation in real life as that qualifies as a case of parental neglect, and Derek talking to the social workers would not have sufficed. However, for purposes of story flow, I’ve decided to forgo that route.</p><p>For for information about the foster system, visit https://www.foster-america.org</p></blockquote></div></div>
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